


A Coat of Polish

by BourbonWhisky_TwoSicilies



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (maybe), Abuse, Abusive home, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aristocracy, Arranged Marriage, Chris can't keep his mouth shut, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Teenagers, Dan is a morally ambiguous character, English upper-class, Frenemies to friends to lovers, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jacobite succession, M/M, Modern Royalty, POV Third Person Omniscient, Phil is misunderstood, Phil loves his servants, Rich Phil Lester, Slow Burn, Tyler is a kinky fucker, a lot of stolen characters and references, fucked up Jane Austen shit goes down, high treason, one is a single mother, posh school, royal scandal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonWhisky_TwoSicilies/pseuds/BourbonWhisky_TwoSicilies
Summary: The impoverished Howell family rejoices as Dan accepts a scholarship to Royal Holloway, a prestigious public school, where he falls into a friendship with three of the richest boys in England under the guise of being absurdly wealthy himself. But as a scandalous plot concerning the aristocratic Lester family brews, will these blue-blooded billionaires even have time to uncover—or care—about the mud caking Dan’s common hands?Updates weekly.





	1. Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucky_Moony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky_Moony/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome all! This fic is basically what you'd get if you threw Downton Abbey and D+P into a high school AU. Unfortunately Royal Holloway isn't a real public school (it's a university) but I love the building and it is close to Dan's childhood home in Wokingham, so it just seemed to fit. Do enjoy Dan's journey into a world of riches he never imagined joining before, and please leave a comment if you like it!
> 
> Upload timetable is going to be once a week at least. I have a lot pre-written because I know I'm bad at updating.

The end of August signalled not only the beginning of autumn—therefore the end of all life in northern England—but also the return of something equally horrible. Many children up and down the country would rather die with summer than return to school. But on this morning as Philip Lester left his bed to check the clock on his wall and look out the window onto the rolling hills around his home, he welcomed it. Half seven in the morning, and the sun was casting long rays over the grassy field below. Though a new day gave life to the world, Philip Lester remembered that each evening, it would die. And thus continued the cycle of life in the north.

Phil always sympathised with Harry Potter in the early films. It wasn’t that school gave him haven—there were far too many students about the grounds for that—but it was an upgrade from the nonsense surrounding him at home. Phil’s friends, all two of them, found his perspective on school bizarre, but Phil wasn’t so keen to yap on about why he felt that way. Apparently, that translated to not talking about his problems at all. Despite that, Phil was looking forward to seeing Chris and PJ, even if he needed to suffer through French and other prescribed pains-in-the-arse to do it.

From his parents’ lavish estate in Northumberland, where sheep seemed more plentiful than people, Royal Holloway College was quite a distance by any literal or figurative interpretation. It was close to London on the opposite side of the country, nearly five hours on the fast train. Phil thanked his lucky stars that he lived so far away, a justification to apply for residential college. The thought of returning at the end of each school day to his home, or at least his father, terrified him to death.

The boy let his legs carry him back to bed, his body falling to the warm sheets for a while, but it was short lived; a Northumbrian bagpipe blasted traditional melodies from outside. The piper must have been playing close-by, but Phil had no doubt he’d be heard all throughout his quaint Jacobean town of Alnwick. The piper did it every morning at 8.00 a.m. sharp—even roosters weren’t awake by this hour—and Phil thought it would damage his hearing before he’d even reach adulthood. Another reason he couldn’t wait to return to Holloway.

He loved the buzz of the south, how there was always a new face to look at everywhere he went, but equally he loved the north for its picturesque landscapes and fresh air. Yet the routine lifestyles—including that of the piper—of a sparsely populated town on the Anglo-Scottish border had him itching to pack his trunk and march onto a train to King’s Cross at once.

After Phil figured that any chance of going back to sleep was nought, he sat up in his bed to appreciate the last few days of summer light and mourn its death.

Then he heard a knock on his door.

‘Come in!’

The wooden door creaked open to reveal a woman in a black dress, cocking her head at the window as she could have sworn she’d drawn the curtains the previous night before going to bed herself. After a moment, she accepted that she must have forgotten.

‘You’ve got a face like a slapped arse, it’s only just past 8.00, lad! You’d best be up and downstairs for breakfast!’ She moved about the room and pushed open all the windows, allowing icy air to seep inside. She went about picking up Phil’s discarded clothes from the day before while the boy curled up into his covers to escape the horrid air pricking his legs.

‘Just once I’d like to lie in bed completely awake for as long as I like and just do nothing…’

‘You’ve been doing that all holiday, I’d have thought you’d be full of beans by now!’ The woman moved by his bed and ripped the sheets off, letting the sudden influx of cold air shock Phil into moving.

‘Okay, Jane, okay’, he grunted. ‘I’ll be down in a second…’

‘Oh, and before I go, I have something to show you!’ Phil looked up at her and let a grin spread on his face. Jane pushed her shoulders back, grabbed Phil’s hand, and placed it on the bump forming on her belly. A little kick had Phil bursting with joy, clapping his hands over his mouth and jumping up and down as Jane laughed at him.

‘It’s okay? The baby’s alright?’

‘The doctor was worried I wouldn’t be able to carry, but the stiches she put in are holding up well. You can feel him kicking now, I’m just so excited! Everyone tells you children are nightmares, but I can’t wait, not me!’

‘Let’s write that down and I’ll read it out to you 18 months’ time when the little rascal’s learned how to talk’. She smiled at him and pushed him out of the room when his sweet ramblings about children began to distract her from the mission at hand: getting Phil to eat breakfast. ‘I’m really so happy for you, Jane. You need to write to me and tell me all about how baby-Jane gets on while I’m at school!’ he yelled back as he left the room.

Jane chuckled and shook her head at the boy’s innocent enthusiasm. The baby wasn’t expected for months still but she supposed Phil was referring to the pregnancy itself, which was rather sweet of him. On the other hand, she did imagine that one would be enthusiastic were one not carrying it oneself.

Once Phil left his bedroom, he found another woman, Mrs Danvers, waiting at the top of the marble staircase down to the entrance gallery. He sighed; at almost 17, he still needed a chaperone for the simple task of descending a flight of stairs. Mrs Danvers was more than willing to trust Phil on the slippery staircase, but still did as she was told. So, she grasped Phil’s hand as she did every morning and led him down the stairs.

‘I can’t wait until we never have to do this again…’

Mrs Danvers said nothing, but Phil suspected that after years of holding his hand down the stairs every morning, she too was sick of it. Instead, she waited a few moments to change the subject. ‘You must be looking forward to returning to school, then?’

Phil mumbled out a response as he put his serious face on for breakfast. His mother and father would no doubt be waiting to bombard him with all sorts of expectations for improving his performance this year.

As Phil sat down to a long mahogany table in the state dining hall, he noticed that his parents were not yet present. All 16 places at the table were set, as tradition dictated, even though they were a family of only three nowadays.

With no one else in the room, the high ceiling with its chandeliers dangling to fill the great expanse, and refractions of light off a hundred oil paintings strewn across the green panelled walls, Phil felt small. So, he made sure to stuff his face with as much food as he could, as quickly as possible, and dart out before his parents would arrive to make the space any more uncomfortable and impersonal than it already was.

In any case, Phil had some packing to finalise and a train to catch at noon. Then, he could finally be reunited with his two best friends. Phil smiled when he imagined them all sitting down to a game of cards under a tree in a grassy courtyard. The prospect kept him optimistic as he rushed around his bedroom for a few hours to throw everything he would need into a trunk. He felt excitement bubble up, regardless of the crawling pace of life at home in the north.

~*~

On the other side of the country, in the bustling county of Berkshire, nights seemed to stretch longer and longer as the cold slaughtered summer, leaving the population to the wind and rain of autumn. However, for one boy in the little town of Wokingham, the end of August brought on something more terrifying than the transition to an English winter—if anyone thought that was possible.

‘Daniel, honey just calm down, everything will be alright. I promise’, his mother said. Jacqueline Howell cradled her distraught teenage son in her arms. He cried into her jacket sleeve and clung onto it, keeping her arm tugged around the front of his chest. His eyes were red and puffy.

The two were sitting on a couch in the living room, trying to watch a film, when Dan broke down. Thinking back to it, he supposed the trigger was the state of his surroundings. He’d looked around the room and realised that he would be in for a miserable year at his new school. He was no stranger to being bullied for his lot in life when the other kids inevitably exposed his family’s starving finances. Everything he owned was a hand-me-down from his dad or bought on a 30-day credit term.

On one occasion, the washing machine ripped an unfortunate hole in some trousers Dan was borrowing from his father. Without the means to replace them, the other children were more than unkind. In fact, they sneered and laughed and pried the truth of Dan’s low status like vultures might rip apart their morning breakfast. That is, with utter disregard for their prey. Dan didn’t know what to tell his teachers after he’d already missed two out of six classes because of the incident, so for several hours he confined himself to a bathroom that probably hadn’t been cleaned in weeks and skipped on the rest.

Even at home, the television was old, small, and in need of replacement. The brown couches, relics from the 90s, had been ripped to shreds years ago by their dog, Colin, and the carpet was no better off. By now, Dan knew better than to be impertinent by asking why the furniture had the ghost of Colin’s bites carved into it. Dan’s father liked to think of it as a memento of the pet.

‘Look around, I’m less than bog-standard. Nothing will be “alright”!’ Dan could hardly keep up with his tears as he sobbed. ‘What if no one likes me? What then?’ He couldn’t breathe between sobs, the tears kept coming out like he were a water reservoir. The snot built up in his chest made him feel untouchable.

‘The other kids will love you. Don’t you worry about that’. She kept rocking back and forth with the boy in her arms. With the incandescent lighting of the room—not because the Howells invested in good lampshades but rather because the lightbulbs were dying off one by one—she couldn’t even see his face to wipe away all the tears.

‘But what if they don’t? I don’t want to go, mum. Please don’t force me…’ After so many years of pulling Dan from different schools around the county, she hoped the latest match would be a good fit. As far as she knew, Holloway was the only institution close-by that they hadn’t tried, save Eton. This one had to be it.

‘This new school is going to be a bit different-’

‘Mum, this new school is where all the posh people go. Everyone knows it, I’ll never fit in at Holloway...’ Dan looked around the dilapidated room as he mumbled between sniffles, ‘I’ll be singled out and picked on and my life will be ruined just like every other time’.

She sighed as she too looked around the room and compared it to the lush setting of any English mansion like the one that served as Holloway’s main building. Where their lightbulbs were blowing out, the ones illuminating Holloway’s crystal chandeliers were probably forging an entire city of light in a single room, so she realised she couldn’t argue. It was one of the most prestigious schools in England, maybe even the whole of Europe, about an hour by rail from their home.

The school attracted the great leaders of the country in waves each year: the children of aristocrats, industry barons, and established politicians. Fleets of the upper class from every corner of wealth congregated around its gates. Despite her son being as far away from that background as possible, she desperately wanted him to go.

‘But Dan, it’s such a brilliant opportunity. The acceptance letter said you were in the top four percent of all the candidates they tested for entry, and you had some of the best GCSE marks’. She beamed at her son and Dan’s face lightened up a bit.

He was proud on the inside and he almost would have admitted it, except the reality of mixing social classes set him on edge and spoiled most of the feeling. That school was reeling in money and prestige, Dan knew that people like him almost never made it in. Even when they did, they could never expect to be accepted among the established social circles. They were of the lowest caste, untouchable and forgettable.

‘Well, it is a full scholarship…’ Dan said, wiping his eyes.

‘Yes, it is. And you’re practically guaranteed a place in any university you want if you’ll only give it a chance?’

Dan nodded at her, calming down. ‘Mum, I’m so scared…’

‘You don’t have to be unafraid’. She cupped her son’s face and felt where the tears were, wiping them away. ‘Bravery means doing something even when you’re terrified. And you are a very brave person’.

A much older woman stood under the doorway of the lounge room. She watched over the two huddled together in darkness on the couch through her tired eyes. She’d seen some troubles in her time, though nothing was ever as heart breaking as seeing someone so young overcome by fear and sadness. Especially her own grandson.

Jackie sat up from her position keeling over her crying son to look up. She saw her own mother trying to find words that could help. She opened her mouth but could not speak, so she ambled forward to the couch with her walking stick before setting it aside to sit down with her daughter and grandson. She placed her hand on the back of Dan’s head and he stirred, seeing the pain in her eyes as his sight cleared.

‘Your mother is not often right, dear, but this is one of those rare times’, she said, causing Dan to laugh through the tears and sniffle as he sat up as well. ‘No one in the world has lived a life without fear. Take it from someone whose been around since the dinosaurs…’

Dan’s mum was relieved to see her son laughing again, and she even took her mother’s jab at her without complaint out of gratitude.

‘But I’m not just afraid, Gran. I’m a damn coward, and I don’t want to go…’ Both women’s smiles dropped. Jackie knew this was a time to let a grandmother take charge, so kissed her son’s cheek and left the room to start on tea.

Gran waited until her daughter left the room before turning her attention back to the boy. ‘You’re not a coward. A coward is someone who lets fear control them. I don’t believe you do, not when it comes to it’.

Dan smiled at her and wiped his last tears. She squeezed him with her arm around his back. He allowed himself to be pulled over to her and his head to rest on her shoulder.

‘You’re so strong, how do I make you see it?’

 

Dan’s father came down after tea to rush off back to work. The boy felt calmer by then but would welcome any distraction from the idea of attending school the next day. ‘Be ready in ten minutes and I’ll be with you soon!’ Jonathan Howell yelled out.

Once school started, Dan knew he’d miss a lot of time with his dad. He doubted he’d have time to do much with his parents once things got busy. He’d come back home after school of course; they lived too close by to justify the exorbitant cost of boarding. Dan wasn’t sure they could afford residential college anyway. He wanted to savour the time he had left with his parents before the onslaught would come the next day, so he agreed for old time’s sake to accompany his dad to work at the film studio to keep him amused throughout the night on set.

Dan felt a bit more confident in his circumstances when he was with his dad. None of the students at school would know what it was like to have a hard-working dad with a job as cool as his. Dan’s father was modest; he worked on low-to-mid budget films in special effects. The benefit was that Dan sometimes tagged along and watched his dad work some magic, but he had felt too old to be coming to work with his father in recent years.

The two climbed into a beaten-up sedan to drive to Ealing Studios, in London. Dan was always fascinated when they’d go past Windsor on the way, driving right by the grand castle that stood there.

‘Wouldn’t it be cool to live up there?’ Dan mused, craning his neck as he often did to marvel at the battlements and towers, all lit up against the twilight stars.

‘Probably not, imagine trying to keep the damn place clean’. Dan smiled at his dad and the two shared a laugh together at the Queen’s downtrodden housemaids. ‘I’m happy with what we have. Big places like that make it easy for families to avoid each other’.

They sat in comfortable silence after that as London approached, a true city of light. Dan liked the place; few cared about how rich or poor you were. Even if they did, they’d never be able to tell at a glance on the pavement. What’s more, they’d probably never see you again once you became immersed in the sea of London’s eight million bustling residents and workers.

School was always a bubble in that regard; everyone knew everyone hence all scandals and personal secrets were dirty laundry hanging on the line. But for the first time, Dan felt better about starting fresh on Monday. He could make a go of fitting in, even if only to prove his optimistic grandmother wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a gift for my friend, Lucky_Moony, who read over it and provided moral support throughout the process. I'm so thankful!  
> Lucky, j'espère que tu l'as apprécié ! J'ai ajouté une nouvelle partie au premier chapitre donc c'est pas trop ennuyeux si tu décides de relire, mais c'est une longue fic donc pas de panique si tu choisis que non. Bisous !
> 
> Be sure to leave plenty of comments to keep me motivated please! See you all in a week x


	2. Morning Coat of Polish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan must polish-up before he can learn the ropes of his new school. But just how out of his depth is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put the real Holloway building in as a pic, it's really pretty! Also, if anyone is interested in what the uniform looks like... find a [pic of HRH Prince Harry](https://www.thecut.com/2018/05/what-was-it-like-to-go-to-school-with-prince-harry.html) wearing the Eton get-up so you can see for youself how ridiculous it is lol. There are a few funny school reviews that I may work into this fic just to make it immersive. Students still wear that silly uniform to this day!

Dan woke up drenched in his own sweat on Monday at the ripe time of 6.30 a.m. He smashed his head against his pillow and groaned; it was too early for this. He gave into the temptation to roll over, snuggle into his duvet, and resist against the cold air threatening to invade his sanctuary from the world.

He watched his clock tick, becoming more and more anxious as it neared 7.00, until his mother opened the door and stung his eyes by turning on the crude ceiling light. Its beams penetrated and destroyed every shadow in the room, exposing Dan to the unwelcome reality that it was now time for school. It were as if someone blew a hatch off a sailboat and gave the elements a way in; the room was flooded with cold morning air and forced Dan to retreat further into his bed and whine as his face iced over.

Jackie was having none of it; even John came into the room to watch her rip off the duvet. Dan squirmed, tugging his knees up to his chest to escape the cold pricking his legs like a hundred needles.

‘Get up, Dan. Go down and shower, I put your uniform in the bathroom already’, she commanded. She didn’t mean to sound unfeeling, she was desperate that Dan should benefit from the opportunity before him. The boy responded to that immediately and tiptoed across the icy wooden floors to the bathroom.

 

‘Hey! Mum! I can’t get the uniform on!’ He’d already straightened his hair for half an hour to force it in place. If it hadn’t have worked, he might have pulled out the ironing board and burnt his unruly curls into place out of sheer frustration. However, all that remained now was this ridiculous costume.

Holloway’s reputation was built on tradition; the conduct of the students in their classes, extracurricular activities, and lives outside of school were to be carried out with “propriety and respect”. So, Dan was disappointed but unsurprised that the costume of choice for boys was a pair of grey pinstripe trousers, a wing-tipped shirt, a black waistcoat, a starched Clifton collar, a black bowtie, and a morning coat. It was overwhelming to wear a three-piece suit to school.

Jackie fastened the collar onto the back of the shirt and buttoned it around Dan’s neck. The tight, stiff fabric gripped at his windpipe; he couldn’t breathe to the point that he spluttered at each tug of the material around his neck while securing its buttons. The waistcoat coiled around him and constricted him when the back strap tightened, making Dan let out a squeak. The trousers were thankfully uncomplicated, but the bowtie made him feel strangled.

When all was said and done, Dan looked like a lanky version of Sir Winston Churchill. His dad came in to look, snap a polaroid of the ridiculous costume, and then throw Dan his black top hat and imitate a whistle from a cat-caller. None of them could believe that children from age five to eighteen were forced to wear this to school, it was too ludicrous for words.

‘Bloody toffs…’ John mumbled as he walked away to fix breakfast.

 

Dan found his first challenge for the day as soon as he left the house for the rail station. The entire neighbourhood fixed its gaze on this odd teenage boy who might have belonged in 1850. Dan dripped sweat under the staring eyes; his elderly neighbours, Mr and Mrs Haxley, were torn away from their gardening as he walked by their front yard.

‘Aren’t you rather young to be getting married, Daniel?’ Mrs Haxley asked. Dan smiled, shaking his head to quell the question, and resumed casting his eyes down. He doubted he ever would get married; society had a long road ahead before that could happen.

It took everything in Dan to keep from abandoning this silly school altogether. He felt ridiculous. It was enough to make him break down then and there, and he hadn’t even arrived yet. He could _feel_ the eyes on him as he waited on the railway platform. The train couldn’t come quickly enough.

 

After a painful rail ride for the better part of an hour, Dan found himself outside the ancient gates to the school. The founder’s building made up most of the campus; it was the centre piece of the little town in the area, imposing a long shadow with its palatial turrets towering above each corner of the structure. Behind the long stretching façade of this gothic red brick fortress were two large courtyards enclosed by the building, separated by another wing of the castle spanning across the middle. In the centre of the façade, a large Victorian clock tower bellowed out the time. 9.00 a.m.

Dan took in a breath as he stepped towards the immense palace. He moved into its large shadow and everything around him became chilly as the sun disappeared. Students in their well-fitted coats—and for the girls, long skirts—rushed towards classes with the ring of the bells and gongs.

Dan found his way to the front desk quite late. He couldn’t muster the courage to ask anyone for directions, he felt too ridiculous. He waited by the desk for the receptionist to finish a phone call with a bratty mother explaining why she was withdrawing her child and sending him to Eton.

The receptionist soon slammed the phone down into its cradle and looked up at the awkward boy. ‘I do apologise for that. What can I do you for?’

She looked to Dan for a response, and he jumped into explaining himself with his heart threatening to explode. Even the reception boasted chandeliers and gold panelled walls. ‘My name is Daniel Howell, I’m starting here today’.

The woman looked taken aback at the brevity, but nonetheless looked him up on her computer, leaving Dan in silence as students walked by and queued up behind him. The ringing of telephones, like one would expect to hear in a doctor’s office, kept Dan on edge as he waited.

‘Alright, Mr Howell, I’ve printed your timetable. A representative should be along presently to show you through the grounds and explain your day to day responsibilities. A student guide will also help you find your way should you have any problems. You’ll find the drawing room behind you’, she said, handing him the paper and pointing towards a wooden panelled room off the main hallway.

_Drawing room_ , Dan giggled to himself. Of course.

He entered the expansive room. The many chandeliers lit up the blue and gold panelling on the walls, so it looked comfortable, but a tad too exotic. Maybe living in Windsor Castle wouldn’t be so wonderful. Dan sat by a window to look through his subjects.

History, English Literature, French (which he was sure was a terrible idea), Mathematics, and Psychology. He wasn’t sure which two he’d drop when it came to his final year. Probably French and Psychology.

The door swung open and Dan turned to greet the man coming through. ‘You must be Mr Howell, I hope you’ve got on well so far’.

‘Yeah, that’s me. Some people looked at me a bit strange this morning on my way but… I guess that’s normal’, Dan said, gesturing to his three-piece suit. The man laughed; it was also true of his extravagant dress robes.

‘Right you are. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Sir Richard Nottingham’. He extended his hand to shake Dan’s but didn’t seem to blink at his casual tone. ‘I’ll be giving the necessary introductions to make your time with us as comfortable as possible’.

Dan’s face turned pale as he reminded himself to straighten his back and allow his posher “Winnie” out.

‘How do you do?’ Dan supposed that Winnie the Pooh was a blessing in disguise, preparing him for the unimaginable moment when he’d need to use his toff accent and formal words rather than subdue them to fit in.

‘I’m quite well, quite well. I see you’ll be in my block for History. It’s unusual, but as far as I’m aware, I am the only professor on hand to take it this year’.

‘Unusual?’

‘Yes, it’s a highly “popular” subject. It’s not uncommon to have several professors for the same class at Holloway, but you’ll soon get used to the way things are done here’. Dan thought it sounded excessive; at his former secondary school, he was lucky if a class of fewer than thirty could be taught by a sole teacher. Dan winced at the thought of how much there would be to get used to.

‘To be honest I’m rather anxious, I didn’t take GCSE History, and Psychology wasn’t offered either’. Dan cast his eyes down, until Sir Richard began to reassure him.

‘Not to worry, I’ve already looked at your academic records. I can only say that you have a bright future ahead of you at Holloway’, Sir Richard said. ‘It will be difficult to adjust to the “new environment”, I imagine St Crispin’s was not as stocked full of nonsense like this’. The professor gestured to his robes. ‘But, you’ve managed a difficult thing to pass the rigorous selective process to Holloway by your own smarts, so I have every confidence in you’. He smiled at the boy before leading him out of the drawing room and into the grounds. Dan was then reminded that the selective process may consider conditions other than intelligence.

 

As soon as they exited the immense palace into the main courtyard behind the clock tower, Dan felt the sunlight and warmth spread through him once more. Sir Richard seemed a kind man, it put Dan at ease to know that he had an ally early on—and one who knew of his plain origins from the beginning. The professor’s youth gave a friendly impression and his attire made Dan feel less ridiculous in his own clothes.

They strolled the courtyard and gardens while Sir Richard explained the history of the school.

‘Holloway has been the focal point of education in the county for many centuries, as I’m sure you know. Among our ranks are no fewer than twenty-two former Prime Ministers. Of course, we compete with Eton College, but I am proud to say that here we are inclusive and encouraging of young ladies as firm believers in co-education’. The man talked of the differences between Eton and Holloway with the only spite Dan thought a gentle being like him could muster.

The underlying message seemed observed but unremarked upon by faculty and staff; Holloway would promote equality, but only if one was able to fork over the cash for the privilege. Therefore, only a certain class of people, which perpetuated inequality itself, could ever attend. A mind for dark humour such as Dan’s chuckled at the thought.

Dan wanted to be proud of himself for getting into this institution, not just because it was a respected establishment, but because he looked to his future and saw hope. To be educated alongside the future leaders of the nation was a chance at purchasing long life light-bulbs, replacing the furniture, having a drawing room of his own, perhaps.

‘The castle surrounding us now serves as the main building, where most of our classes are held. A trip to Windsor Great Park isn’t uncommon for those who are inclined towards sports, but I can see that won’t affect you’.

Dan smiled at the light humour. ‘Absolutely not, I discovered that early on’.

Another reason why he didn’t think he’d fit in at a prestigious public school.

He was really trying hard to choose his words in accordance to the professor’s register; he felt he could hide behind it and prevent students from learning his background.

‘No matter. Being a history professor, I’m sure I can say the same’. Sir Richard gave Dan a smile before pointing to another historical relic; a statue of the founder of the modern incarnation of the school from one-hundred and thirty-two years ago.

‘The castle was constructed in 1874, courtesy of Thomas Holloway, which is from where the modern institution takes its name. You can see it in the architecture of the building, it’s what we’d call “gothic revival”. The same style as Westminster Palace, if you were interested. But of course, a school existed on this site hundreds of years before then. We can trace our history all the way back to the reformation, which we will no doubt be covering in class should you choose to complete your studies in History’.

Dan was simply amazed as he looked around. For a moment he forgot the horrible stiff collar gripping his throat. The castle was beautifully designed, with its many chimneys springing up out of the roof line.

‘Why is it called _Royal_ Holloway?’ Dan asked, but not so much out of his own interest.

‘Ah, yes, my favourite part!’ Sir Richard’s voice was almost bursting with joy as he pulled Dan along in his stride in front of yet another statue. ‘Queen Victoria opened the building in 1886. She allowed the use of the term by royal mandate, hence “Royal Holloway”. It’s quite a marketing tactic, to sprinkle the fairy dust of monarchy over individual establishments and by that virtue, render them attractive amongst many others’.

‘An unfair advantage?’ _Ad-vahn-tehdge._

‘I would say it’s completely fair; Eton caught the Wales boys right from under us’, Sir Richard joked. The two smiled at each other and Dan had to give the professor credit for his enthusiasm.

They continued around the campus for some time before going back inside. Dan felt more at ease after the initial tour. He could see himself enjoying school much more than he had in the past. That was until he realised a student representative would be leading him through the next phase of his orientation.

_‘Fuck’._

Sir Richard and Dan waited in another fancy drawing room, out of sight from the other students as the clock tower struck 10.00 a.m. Soon, a girl who must have been Dan’s age nudged her way into the room. Her up-done hair was mostly hidden underneath a short brim hat with a pheasant feather sticking out of it. Enough of her hair hung out for Dan to tell it was blond and curly in the unruly way that he was familiar with himself.

It seemed girls at Holloway were no more immune to ridiculous uniform fashion than boys. Hers consisted of a white long sleeve blouse tucked into a dark blue ankle length skirt with a thick black strap around the middle where the two items met. A ruffled cravat completed the look, as well as a light blue long coat and black gloves.

Sir Richard stood to make the introduction. ‘May I introduce Lady Louise Pentland’. Dan straightened himself up to take her hand and lightly hold it. She blushed at how uncomfortable he looked as he contorted in his many layers to do so. ‘This is our new arrival, Mr Daniel Howell’.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Daniel’.

‘Please, just “Dan” is fine’. He hoped he wasn’t coming across rude; she was sophisticated and perfectly lovely, and he had to do his best to play along to the standard.

‘Now, I’ll leave you to it. If there’s anything you need, do ask,’ Sir Richard said.

‘Thank you’, Dan replied, hesitating. ‘It’s Mr Nottingham, isn’t it?’

The professor smiled. ‘“Sir Richard” being the correct form’.

‘If that’s all, Sir Richard, I’ll show him to the cloak room’, Louise said to break the silence as she grasped Dan’s hand and yanked him out of the drawing room.

They ventured through the corridors as the students emptied out for the next class. Within five minutes, Dan had already forgotten the girl’s name. His face rushed with colour to have to ask, but it was better to do it now than after five months of pretending. He hated living in the discomfort of a lie.

‘I’m sorry, what was your name again? I’ve already forgotten and I’m sorry it’s just that-’

‘Shhh, Dan it’s fine’. Louise put her hand to his face to shut the babbling nervous wreck up, taking Dan by surprise. ‘It’s your first day, you have to be superhuman to remember everything. My name is Louise’. Dan could have sworn there was something else he was forgetting about her and opened his mouth to speak. ‘And forget about the “Lady Whatever” rubbish’.

‘So, can I ask why you’re not just “Louise” anyway? Are all the girls here also “Lady Whatevers”?’ Dan asked. The customs here were very confusing but he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more. Louise looked a little dubious as she responded.

‘Well, to answer your question… many of us are but not all. I guess it’s not surprising with the type of people we get here. I don’t like to make a thing of it; my family has a title so I get a fancy little prefix to my name… Sir Richard has taught me History for about three years now and he _still_ won’t call me anything other than “Lady Louise”’. She shuddered saying it.

Dan wasn’t sure whether she was the spoilt and bratty type of rich person or somewhat aware and irritated by the unnecessary privileges life gave her. ‘When you say this place attracts certain types of people, what do you mean?’

‘Well, most of the boys that get sent here are in line for some sort of huge inheritance or something like that. And lots of the girls are part of this “Lady Whatever” system as well. Actually, many outrank me, so I guess those are the “types” of people I mean’.

‘You mean toffs?’

‘I don’t like to put it that way, but yeah, since you’re asking... There’s sort of a hierarchy when it comes to it, and not just social rank... It’s sort of an unspoken, accepted thing’.

_Fucking great,_ Dan thought. He wondered if he’d ever be able to tell the truth about his dilapidated little house in Wokingham on its second mortgage and his dad’s common job.

As a Berkshire resident, he could claim he lived in a respectable home county without lying. Just concealing the truth about his specific dwelling within it. Dan concluded that he would do what needed to be done to avoid being targeted as the local poor kid; would they all just throw him out and refuse to be his friend if they knew he didn’t have money?

He had a sliver of a feeling that Louise was a decent person, but he felt sick to his stomach at the prospect of being found out either way. That fear plagued his breathing as the two walked along the halls and Louise pointed out a few of the prominent students that he’d need to be aware of.

‘I guess it’s like any school, there are groups and cliques. We’ve got the rowers who always fight the other schools for the rowing cup. They’re near the top of the pyramid. We’ve also got the academics, just insanely smart people who will probably become councillors or MPs one day or something’. Dan already felt so out of place among these smart and refined people, but what came next was so out of the blue.

‘And then we’ve got the billionaire’s club’.

‘I’m sorry, the what?’

‘Well, that’s just what people call it. There are only three actual billionaires in it. You don’t have to provide a bank statement to get in or anything, or half the people wouldn’t be in it. I think a millionaire’s club would be pretty redundant’.

Dan wanted to throw up. His mother had been wrong, these people would never accept him. He had no doubt he was the poorest person in the entire school. He felt so small in comparison to the standard, even to Louise. What’s worse is that she admitted that her position wasn’t anything uncommon at Holloway. He didn’t know how he could ever hope to measure up to these people. His parents still had home loan repayments, and several piled up credit card bills. It was a miracle Dan could even afford to get his uniform for school, or that he even got into this place on a full scholarship at all.

‘Anything else I should know?’ Dan asked. He tried so hard to keep himself together through all of this as they walked into an ornate picture gallery, but the question left his mind as he stared down the hall.

The black and white checked tiles on the floor extended forever and it looked like a huge optical illusion. With a high ceiling, Dan was sure his entire house could fit inside. Many golden framed oil paintings hung from the wooden panelled walls and chandeliers floated in the air, held by meters of leads from the ceiling.

‘Holy fuck’.

‘I guess that’s one way to put it…’ Louise coughed and giggled. ‘Anywho, this is the picture gallery. We usually host banquets and balls in here because the room is so large. The guy who commissioned the building donated all the paintings you see in this room, he must have been loaded, I can tell you that’. She took a few moments to admire it herself; other students passed it by as if it were normal, but she still thought it special after so many years here.

‘As for the other things you should know,’ Louise began again after a brief interlude staring at the ceiling, ‘if I can give you one piece of advice, stay away from anyone in the billionaire’s club. I don’t know, you might be secretly one of them and I just haven’t heard of you, but this group of people… they’re not the nicest’.

‘In what way?’ Dan’s heart was beating so fast, he couldn’t wait to just go to class and tune out.

‘Well, the three guys at the top of the entire school are just standoffish and sometimes plain rude. The Honourable Mr Liguori is one. He’s a mystery for sure. No one knows what his actual name is, well, his initials are “PJ” so some people call him by that.

‘All we know is that he’s from an Austro-Italian banking dynasty union. His family goes back to the Medicis and the Rothschilds. His dad is a banker in Austria, and his family has a title. It’s just a Barony, doesn’t come with land or anything, but a title’s a title. Don’t worry though, he’s travelled around a lot because of his dad’s work so he must have some idea about what life is for regular people. Definitely a net worth above 1.1 though’.

‘Jesus Christ… What about the other two?’ 1.1 million was a lot of money.

‘Well, the next richest guy in the group is Chris Kendall. I don’t think he’s actually related to Kendall Jenner but there’s a rumour that the Jenners stole his family name and gave it to their daughter or something’. Dan laughed at the very idea, but he wouldn’t be that surprised given the profile of some of these children. ‘And yes, his dad is the film director, and his mum co-manages a company they founded for hiring makeup and costume artists. New money, obviously, but he’s still a member of the club’.

‘Wait, actually? So, you’re saying that the son of the director who made _Troll in the Dungeon_ goes to our school?’ Dan couldn’t contain himself at the idea; the film captivated the entire world for several years and was one of the highest rated “who-dun-it” films ever made. Louise giggled at Dan’s surprised expression and excitability.

‘Yep, but that’s not all. He’s probably worth about 1.6 or something, I can’t really be sure’. And then Dan realised. She didn’t mean millions. She really did mean BILLIONS. He might have died then and there if he didn’t want to know who the last person was so desperately. The two were almost at the end of the picture gallery when she leaned in to tell him.

‘Fuck, this all sounds rosy’, Dan said, earning a glare from Louise. ‘Uhhh, sorry…’ She just laughed at him as if he’d broken a thick layer of ice between them.

‘Alright, well, fuck it. I guess we only live once. Let’s pretend you’re not a gentleman and I’m not a lady for a moment’. Dan grinned at her carefree attitude; he felt a bit more confident around her now. Even though he wasn’t a gentleman, she probably wouldn’t mind. Maybe she really didn’t care that much about money.

‘This last guy is probably going to make you swear whether you want to or not. He’s the richest out of everyone and also the highest ranked. He’s a real double threat. If only here weren’t so...’ Just as Louise went to tell Dan all about the mystery boy, her breath caught in her throat.

A group of three boys made their way through the picture gallery.

All the other students in the hall parted to let the trio through. The leader of the group was like Moses, the other students were the Red Sea. Dan noticed the room fill up with chatter as they stopped to observe the trio approaching Dan and Louise. Dan somehow doubted they wanted a friendly chat over tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope the pacing is okay? I know it's a bit slow to start, but I want this to pace like an actual novel might, to introduce you to the characters as if you've never met them before. I'm struggling to decide whether that is a realistic goal on this platform where readers tend to prefer fics that get to the action within the first few chapters... 
> 
> Let me know in the comments your thoughts on that, so I can make improvements to word economy if people would like less character exploration and more action/conflict! Hope you all have a good week, and I'll be back next Friday!


	3. Verisimilitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verisimilitude (n): the appearance of being true or real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter at 2k words, I think that's a good length? We also get to learn a bit about public school culture/lore :)

Dan was still dumbstruck looking down the picture gallery. The sea of students split to form a path for the three boys to pass through. The leftmost one had curly brown hair, the most exotic green eyes, and a well-defined jawline. His coat hugged around his sides and showed off his waistline. The sight left Dan salivating, though he honestly wouldn’t have known what to do with someone so beautiful.

‘Who’s that?’

‘That’s PJ, the mysterious Italian with the banker dad’, Louise whispered into his ear.

‘The Italians always are the hottest…’ Louise raised her eyebrow, but let it go with a shake of her head.

The boy on the right was much shabbier looking; his shirt was untucked and creased, and his waistcoat unbuttoned. He hadn’t done his bowtie up correctly either; the knot had been yanked into oblivion and the lengthy ends flopped about as he walked. His fringe was hanging down over his nose, a definite breach of school policy.

‘I’ve seen Chris around in photos, so that’s him I’m guessing…’ Louise hummed a response and nodded, but her eyes were fixed on the boy in-between.

The one in the middle was most perplexing. He was tall, much taller than the other two. His coat looked even more elegant because of his height and had no traces of lint or hairs on it, unlike many of the boys at Holloway. His fringe was dark black, which Dan had to admire. The boy obviously dyed it that way.

 _How scandalous_ , he thought.

The boy’s face was pale and unblemished, and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of light blue. The elements of his face all complimented each other so nicely; he was immaculate.

‘And that, my dear friend, is Lord Philip Lester, the future Duke of Northumberland. Only a few other families are older than his in the entire system. I reckon his trust fund is about 3.3, bigger than the other two combined for sure’, Louise whispered. She continued as if someone had taken her breath away. ‘The most eligible bachelor this side of the water… There isn’t a girl here who doesn’t want to drag him to an altar. And guess what… he’s in some of our classes’.

The sweetness in Louise’s voice made him sound so alluring as he floated down the gallery with his two comrades either side. He could hear her swooning, though her previous explanation to stay away from these boys betrayed a dislike for their values and attitudes towards rank. The basic facts of Lester’s bank account clearly washed all nasty opinions away. All this talk of rank and wealth was making Dan sick with anxiety; he’d never be allowed near people as well-placed.

PJ, Chris, and Lester moved past Dan and Louise, at which point Lester cast his eyes over the newcomer and fixed his gaze on Louise for a moment. The other two stood behind him.

‘Morning, another student tour?’ Lord Philip asked, stopping to chat briefly. His accent was a beautiful mix between north and south; it was music to Dan’s ears when he glided over “a” words. Louise’s genuflection of acknowledgement put her only an inch below Philip’s eyes, a virtue of being the son of a northern county leader, Dan supposed.

‘I’m just doing what I can to make newcomers feel welcome’. Louise flew to the middle of the group and put her arm out towards Dan. ‘Lord Philip, may I present Mr Daniel Howell, this is his first day’.

‘Nice to meet you’. He reached out his hand to shake Dan’s. The boy was dumbstruck by the gesture. ‘This is PJ’, Phil said, pausing to allow PJ to extend his own hand, which Dan noted was very warm and soft. PJ’s eyes set on the newcomer with a curious gaze. ‘And Chris’.

The man was a little worse for wear; Dan mistook him for being timid at first as he refused to meet his eyes. Or even touch him at all. No hands were extended there.

Everyone stood in silence until Chris piped up, ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve heard of the Howell family’.

Dan had no idea what to say. Of course, Kendall hadn’t heard of the Howell family; they were nobody. They’d never done anything or been anywhere, apart from India on holiday several years ago. They weren’t on the Forbes 400 List, and definitely not mentioned in Burke’s Peerage nor Landed Gentry.

‘Uhm, I just transferred here, I’m based in Berkshire, though’. Dan was sweating through his heavy clothes, and suddenly his new coat weighed down on him. He wasn’t really lying; he had in fact just moved to this school.

‘Oh, you must know the Carnarvons, they’re in Berkshire too. We had them for dinner last month’, Lord Philip said, to diffuse the tension.

_Ironic._

‘Yes, I suppose I do… I wouldn’t say I know them well but I… know of them…’ He’d seen the Earl and Countess of Carnarvon featured in a documentary about Tutankhamun years ago.

‘Right, well, do you know which house you’re in yet? Chris, PJ, and me are in Stewart, Louise too’.

Dan ruffled around to open his timetable sheet, looking to the top. **Daniel Howell, Coburg House.**

‘Coburg… Is that good?’

Louise snorted and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her shame.  

‘That’s the weed house’, PJ explained, averting his eyes from Louise. ‘Just don’t get caught smoking by the pops at the Coburg Friday night parties, and you’ll be fine’.

_Ah. What fun._

‘Right, well, Louise tells me that we’ll all be sharing some classes this year, we can become better acquainted then?’

Lord Philip smiled and nodded without further comment. He turned back to Chris and PJ to continue on his way. He put his hat back on and tipped it to Louise on his way out. PJ gave him a wink on his way out, and that made Dan wobble.

He felt like he’d dodged a bullet by the time the three left. One more question and he’d have choked up and blurted out that he lived in Wokingham and previously attended St Crispin’s, the local state school that suffered funding cuts and overflowing classrooms year after year.

‘What in the hell did you say all that for?’

‘First rule of being a passive-aggressive Englishman is to propose plans you don’t mean to follow up on. The guy’s nice on the eyes, but jeez, talk about a bloody wanker’, Dan whispered to Louise. She giggled and immediately tried to hide it.

‘I reckon you pulled a bit of a blinder talking to them’. Louise slumped out of her perfect posture as soon as the trio was out of sight. ‘Jesus Christ, I hate having to be on my best behaviour like that and speaking so formally, you know?’ Louise’s entire attitude dropped back from “graceful lady of the land” to that of any teenager Dan had ever known.

‘What a transformation you did there, impressive’, Dan said. ‘You said they weren’t very approachable, which I guess is… well… accurate. Philip’s got a pole up his bum, and not the kind that vibrates, and Chris thought it was beneath him to even look at me. PJ seems alright’.

‘You should meet the American exchange I showed around this morning, he got put in Coburg too… He’d love you. Anyway, people respect them because everyone wants to be friends with them’, she explained.

‘Everyone including you?’ Dan smiled at her and she pushed him in the arm.

‘Oh, shut up, it’s hard. I mean, I don’t like Phil’s attitude. He’s a damn snob, Chris too, but he kinda is the most eligible bachelor in the country next to Wills and Harry… My parents would be happy if I took a shot. You know how these things work’. She gave a guilty look; she knew that the trio’s elitist attitude towards rank and wealth was inexcusable but part of her forgave it. The wonders of money and title. Dan wasn’t sure he did know how these things worked but he did nothing to correct the girl on that score.

‘So, you wouldn’t want to be friends with him but if you had to “snog, marry, avoid”, you’d choose to marry?’

‘Makes me feel like a bit of a numpty when you say it like that… But that’s pretty much it…’ Louise shifted in her place and tried to avoid thinking about her morals.

While she pushed guilt from her mind, Dan was thinking that he might choose “snog”. On second thought, perhaps he’d go with “avoid” for Lester and “snog” for PJ. But then he’d have to “marry” Chris and that sounded like a sentence to hell. He’d have to think on it, since he couldn’t wake up to Chris every morning. Perhaps “avoid” for Chris, “snog” for Phil, and “marry” for PJ. The Italian seemed like he would be the most moderate of the three. Not as poisonous but still very attractive.

‘Only problem is that them three never let anyone near them long enough anyway. They’ll talk to people sometimes but not more than that. Plus, they won’t even engage with most people outside of the higher-ranking students in the billionaire’s club so it’s not like it matters. I’m pretty sure he only thinks I’m appropriate to talk to because I’m a titled nob like he is’.

Dan’s mind was whirring with ideas as to why Lester thought Dan was a suitable candidate for conversation if the guy was meant to be such a snob. Dan was the last person a high-ranking aristocrat would ever be friends with. He caught himself from expressing those thoughts to Louise. That could ruin things. ‘Whatever it is, it’s a load of tosh’.

‘Agree. It’s disappointing really. I don’t care if my friends aren’t heirs to the bloody Kingdom. I don’t know why he can’t suck it up and get over himself’.

She ranted for a bit about how they looked down at people through their noses, as if they were displeased librarians.

‘Right, any questions before divs start?’ She asked as the clock struck to indicate morning tea time.

‘What the heck is a “div” and what the heck is a “pop”?’

‘Divs are classes, and pops are prefects. At the end of the year, we’ll vote for the most-liked students from our cohort and they’ll be the pops. They wear their own designs on their coats, so it’s kinda fun if you get voted, actually!’

‘Well, I can tell who our pops are gonna be…’

‘Hmm… I don’t know, PJ, Chris, and Phil are a bit too isolated. You usually need to participate in activities and meet lots of people if you want to get voted’.

_What else could there possibly be at this fucked-up school?_

‘We have things like Tuesday nights, where there’s £2 wine and beer at the Tap Pub, and there’s Lunch Club on Fridays. We sing hymns every morning in the chapel starting tomorrow, so you’ll meet house-mates there. For annual events, there’s the big hunt in September and the Winter Ball in January, I still need to get a dress and a partner for that… The rowing cup runs from April to May, and graduation pranks are on 4th June, watch out for that.

And then we have challenges. There’s the Ice Challenge in December, where all the lower-sixth form boys have to jump in the Obelisk Pond and sing a verse of _Rule Britannia_. The Paris Challenge is a bit of a weird one for March. Basically, someone from each house sneaks out after curfew and travels to Paris overnight. Their house wins if they bring back a croissant and that morning’s French paper without being caught, but no one’s won that for a few years’.

‘I’m not even going to ask’, Dan said, stupefied by the idiocy of jumping in a frozen pond.

‘It’s tradition, so you’re not allowed to question it!’ Louise laughed as she prepared to end the tour. ‘You should come to Tap tomorrow, me and a few friends go every week’.

Dan had already grown so fond of Louise; she wasn’t stuck up or at all like he imagined a rich lady of the land would be. He didn’t know why he felt the need to hide from her. Years later he would look back on this day and wonder why he didn’t just come clean with such a deserving girl. It might have saved him a lot of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, and yes I know, Phil's character is a bit... off... Any ideas as to why people think he's a snob? 
> 
> I kinda stole Eton lingo and culture to use in this chapter. They have divs and pops, 4th June pranks, and the Paris Challenge. All are real Etonian traditions. And yes, public schools do have pubs on-site for students (they can drink underage because it's not a government institution or public property). As a prestigious public school, I expect Holloway would still have hunting hounds for student recreational use. Only three schools in England still have their own pack! I made up the ice challenge and winter ball and rowing cup, but I imagine those are pretty standard. People do stupid shit at boarding school, man. 
> 
> I'm so excited to get to these parts of the story where Dan has to participate in these crazy activities! A bit of a teaser for you :)


	4. Trompe-l'oeil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Originally this chapter was a whopping 5,200 words long, so I'm splitting it into two more manageable pieces. I think I will upload pt.2 sometime next week, probably Tuesday, just because I'd still like to keep on track if I can.

Louise left Dan to settle in during the morning break by the cloak room, so he could store his things between classes. He figured that many students boarded at Holloway, but those who didn’t left their items here.

His first class for the day after all the orientation would be double History with Sir Richard. Dan found the subject was neither interesting nor disinteresting, but Sir Richard wouldn’t cause him any trouble—at least not like students and teachers alike at St Crispin’s—so he didn’t mind that Coburg and Stewart houses took it together.

The clock tower struck half eleven, which gave Dan five minutes to find the correct classroom. The map the receptionist gave him labelled the different sections of the castle, but nowhere did it tell him which levels connected to which wings.

As Dan wandered through the grassy inner courtyard, he kept a lookout for someone familiar to ask for directions. That’s when he saw Philip Lester and his friends walking underneath the clocktower.

Dan rushed forward into a sea of black coats packing into the clock wing. It were as if they huddled for warmth. He saw Chris and PJ parting the crowd and Phil following closely behind, which was when the latter caught Dan in his sights and gave him a nod. Dan took what he was given, ever unsure whether he dare catch up and talk to them.

‘Daniel, you’re not going talk to us?’ Phil asked, turning around and stopping in his tracks to close the ten-foot gap Dan left between himself and the group. Dan could say he feared making the wrong impression on the trio, which apparently translated to not making an impression at all.

‘Sorry, I just wouldn’t want to impose. But please call me “Dan”, or you’ll sound like Sir Richard’. Phil laughed a bit at the joke, a positive sign.

‘Thanks, most people at this school would’ve already tried to push themselves into the conversation uninvited by now’. Chris said.

Dan felt a dangerous tension in the air, undoubtedly unobserved by the other boys. Chris was right in too many ways; Dan Howell wasn’t like most people at the school because part of him wanted to stay as far away as possible from this group. And for a million other reasons, underneath the nonsense covering his skin, Dan was a rusty penny shined up by fancy shoes and layers of polish.

Dan grinned at his own self-deprecating joke. _Fitting that pennies are those worthless things that just stick around in your wallet until you finally throw them away._

In the end, the trio must have assumed Dan’s caution was for reasons other than being socially awkward. Dan’s mind jumped back into action after enough wandering.

‘Well, I guess I didn’t want to push in because I know what it’s like to have people always swamping you’. He did know what it was like, but they didn’t need to know that he was bullied at his old school for being poor when they were swamped for being rich.

They were silent for a few moments, contemplating Dan’s words. So, he qualified his statement. ‘What I mean is… well… I wouldn’t want someone coming up to me and trying to push in. Like, I assume you all feel the same given your various… uhh… circumstances’.

His caution seemed to have a positive effect on the trio, and soon they were talking more comfortably, but the gymnastics Dan felt he had to perform over eggshells throughout the conversation would inevitably wear him out.

They probably assumed that Dan was another upper-class sheep lost in the herd; not so wealthy as to displace them, but not so beneath them that he’d be desperate for their friendship. Maybe they thought he was the heir to a Scottish oil empire or a London banking dynasty.

Whatever it was, Dan imagined they believed by now that he understood them because he too lived in their world where he had more than he knew what to do with, not because he was emotionally intelligent and capable of feeling a scrap of empathy.

‘No point in avoiding the “R” word, mate. We’ve got money, and everyone wants some, no shame in telling it like it is’, Chris said, reaching around and slapping Dan’s arm a little too hard to be friendly. Phil and PJ sighed and averted their eyes from the conversation.

‘Ignore Chris, he’s the queer one out of us’, Phil said.

Chris snorted, ‘Kettle black’.

Phil glared at him.

‘Anyway, we’re all heading to double history right now so if you wanted to, we can show you the way?’ PJ asked, a little too quickly after Chris’ comment came out. PJ’s gesture was a kind one so Dan had no problem accepting, even though he wasn’t fully “in” yet and didn’t want to be “in” either.

The group began walking again. He felt as if he were walking through the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, perhaps in the King’s entourage, by the way students stared at him. No doubt the chandeliers and deep-set Georgian windows littering Holloway sold the scene.

“Who’s _he_? What’s _he_ doing with _them_? Where did _he_ come from?” Dan interpreted it from his judgmental peers’ faces as he passed them.

‘So, Dan, I was hoping you could tell us a bit about yourself’. Chris stated after they’d walked away from the noisy hallways. The three boys gave him such a smile that he wasn’t bothered by the directness. Dan wasn’t thinking clearly enough to interpret it as if it were anything other than an olive branch.

‘Well, I’ve been hopping around a few schools in the county…’

At this point, any discrepancy in his story could reveal his identity. Dan was so aware that he’d already compromised his moral code on lying. Although this wasn’t really lying—more so concealing the truth, or bending it really—he thought to Gran’s disappointed eyes regardless.

‘Any reason for that? If others just wanna be around you for your money, that bullshit doesn’t happen so much here. Not with our sort of people’.

Dan swallowed and tried to formulate a response.

‘Chris… We’re not running an interrogation here’, PJ said, giving a sympathetic look to Dan who was only becoming more anxious, his stiff collar constricting around his throat once more.

‘Uhm… I suppose none of the other schools I’ve been at so far, well… none of them really, sort of, like, worked out. My parents thought that Holloway would be a good option. For sixth form, I mean’. The tension left him as soon as he finished his explanation. He wasn’t really lying, but he could already feel himself sinking into a hole.

‘I understand the feeling’, Chris stated. ‘My parents are big in the film industry, but even at a school like this, it’s hard to fit in’.

Dan cocked his head up at the boy. Being the snobby prat that he was, one who wasn’t shy to flaunt his riches, he wasn’t surprised. He suppressed a snort at the irony of Chris’ struggle to fit-in.

‘How do you mean? From what I’ve heard, are you not on top of the “fitting-in” thing?’ Dan asked.

Phil knew exactly what Chris was about to explain and PJ prepared a speech in his head to again recover the conversation.

‘Well, I’m a recent addition to the club… the money is all new, so you can imagine it was much easier before my parents got rich and famous. I was just “Chris” at school, nothin’ special. But then dad did a film and it completely blew up, and suddenly, parents are shovin’ their daughters at me and even the paparazzi chased me around. I tried so many different schools, but it didn’t get better until I came here’.

Dan almost huffed at Chris’ explanation. What did it matter whether the money was new or old? Money was money, it either paid your rent or it didn’t. Although, Dan supposed people like Phil, PJ, and Chris were rather the ones collecting.

‘I think what Chris means is that it’s complicated to manage a high profile and be comfortable around people that you otherwise could be perfectly good friends with’, PJ explained.

‘I mean, that’s part of the reason people come here. It’s prestigious enough that you can be with your own kind. Y’know, people that aren’t jealous of your money or trying to make you feel guilty over it. Or trying to take advantage of you’.

Dan looked over to Phil, who had been mostly silent and staring at his feet as they walked. The curiosity mixed with confusion over Lester’s true snobbery was little compared to the sinking feeling in his stomach over the sweeping privilege radiating off Chris in particular. PJ seemed the most down to Earth out of them, but this conversation exhibited such an overwhelming lack of worldliness.

Did they know what it felt like to wear damp denim because the dyer was playing up and it was too cold to air-dry? Dan bet that they thought credit cards were for earning points. Listening to them talk about an excess of money like it was a burden was nauseating.

Phil laughed at PJ’s explanation as if nothing about his explanation was questionable, and Dan had to repeat a mantra, _Calm the fuck down_ , to endure.

‘For the most part, PJ is right. But I think Chris and I take public interest to Pluto...’

Dan rolled his eyes, bold enough to make it obvious. Phil turned his head away, laughter dying off his face, but Dan couldn’t feel guilty over being callous.

_The prick deserves more than an eye-roll._

 ‘You know, it’s good to see that PJ and Chris aren’t the only two people in school that understand what it’s like at least’, Phil said.

Dan swallowed hard and put himself on autopilot. Phil could play at this heartless game of faux-empathy as well.

~*~

By the time the four arrived at History, Louise was already throwing strange looks as to why Dan was even bothering with the trio. Once Dan walked into the classroom, he stopped at the double door threshold and admired the room, making the group split up.

As with all things in the palatial building, the classrooms were abbeys in grandeur. The antique pews were of hand-carved oak, giving the space the air of the House of Lords with its seating curved around the walls. Dan supposed they turned focus to Sir Richard’s throne in the centre.

He took a seat next to Louise and removed his hat, earning a snigger from her when she saw that his hair had curled with sweat. _All that damn ironing for nothing_.

‘Dan, glad you’ve chosen the light side’, she said.

Next to her was a short guy who didn’t seem to want to conform in any way to school uniform policy. His coat hung from the back of his chair, leaving him in his white shirt and unclipped waistcoat. He kept his bowtie undone around his neck. His blond hair wasn’t in any sort of classical shape, rather he’d obviously spiked it with gel and allowed it to stick up in an eccentric quiff.

“Dan Howell?” the curious boy asked, getting out of his seat to hug him from behind. “It’s been literally five minutes, but Louise has told me everything about you. My name is Tyler Oakley!” Dan noted that his voice was floating in the clouds, it was sweet and energetic at the same time. Nothing like anyone else here.

‘As you can see, Tyler brought all his enthusiasm and subtlety with him’. Louise put him back in his seat with her eyes.

“She’s teaching me about sarcasm!”

‘Tyler is our resident American exchange; loveable, but be warned, he’s yet to be educated in physical contact rules’.

All Dan could do was laugh as Tyler’s face turned into a tomato. Someone here who knew even less about how to behave than he did, how refreshing!

‘It’s fine, really. At least now I’m no longer the biggest newbie on the block’, Dan said before shutting himself up to keep from revealing more. What was he a newbie at, exactly?

Once Tyler’s face calmed down, Dan found himself curious about the exchange student’s life in the “new world”. He often felt that the way high society in England worked was too traditional, America being the stark opposition across the water.

“It’s so weird here, we don’t even have school uniforms in the US. Like, is everyone in England just rich? Also, y’all talk real funny.” Dan sniggered; it would appear that way to a foreigner. Dan thought about showing Tyler his deteriorating lounge room at home to quell his assumptions.

Meanwhile, the billionaire trio sat on the opposite side of the room away from everyone else. Louise informed Dan that most of their year knew it was a lost cause; more than half the hype was that no one really knew why they kept to themselves. If anything, that allowed the mystery and intrigue surrounding the trio to flare up like dry leaves on a fire.

“Jeez, if Louise has to explain this rank shit to an actual British person, imagine what it’s been like for me for a sec.” Tyler still had no idea why Lord Philip Lester was so special, but he didn’t have any issue voicing his view about it. “Although I agree, he’s cute. I wouldn’t say sexy, but cute. Reckon I should ask him out?”

‘Oh my god Tyler, you can’t even say that out loud…’ Dan said.

“Why not? It’s a free country!”

‘Well one, it’s technically a theocracy, two, we don’t have a written constitution, three, free speech wouldn’t be in it anyway’.

‘Slow down, Robespierre’, Louise joked. Dan sniggered, as any self-respecting nerd would, while Tyler sat dumbfounded.

“Wait, as if there’s no constit-”

Sir Richard walked through to the centre of the room and held his hands in the air to start the lesson. In his robes he commanded the respect of all the students, even if many of them would outrank him in at St James’s.

‘Welcome to our first class in History for this academic year. I suspect you’re all eager to understand the course outline, so you will find a detailed list of chapters we’ll cover at the ends of each row. If you’d be kind enough to please take one and pass them along until everyone has a copy…’

There was a rustling as the papers were handed out which echoed through the great room, but everyone remained civil and silent. Sir Richard turned to a blackboard at the front of the room and began writing in chalk the details of the lesson.

‘This year we will be focusing on the events following the Glorious Revolution of 1688… We will be looking at the public perception of Catholicism versus Protestantism...’ Sir Richard trailed off as he wrote the dates on the board.

‘Now that we’ve had an overview of the era, can anyone tell me which King was deposed in the Glorious Revolution and who replaced him?’ Almost every hand in the class went up, except for Dan’s and Tyler’s. In the silence of the room, Dan contemplated putting his hand up for show and hoping he wouldn’t be picked. ‘Miss Hunter, care to share your answer?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘James II was kicked out in 1688 by his daughter, Mary II’, she said, smiling at her correct answer and sitting back into her bench with a smug look on her face. Dan supposed that people took their fulfilment in different ways. Chris in money, Phil in rank, and Miss Hunter in asserting her intellectual superiority.

‘Is this class always going to be factual and boring?’ Dan whispered over to Louise.

‘Probably, it is history after all… As future leaders of the country we’re apparently supposed to know about the mistakes of the past. It’s “highly recommended” because no one would take it otherwise’.

Dan nodded at her and sat back into his seat to listen with the rest of his peers, the “future leaders of the country”.

‘Now, let’s discuss the Jacobite succession. When King James II was deposed, we know that his daughter’s ascension was controversial and that the Kingdom was inevitably inherited by the House of Hanover. Hence, Catholic supporters of James II, called “Jacobites”, believe that only James’ heirs are legitimate rulers. However, did King James II really believe he had a divine right to rule? Is the entire doctrine unjustified by constitutional standards? How do we decide…’

Tyler soon found more interest in a stained window looking onto the gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I actually didn't plan on putting Tyler in when I first wrote this, but in editing I just inserted him into as many chapters as I could because he's so much fun to write!  
> Also, I know history isn't the most fun thing for lots of people but I promise Sir Richard's lesson is worth remembering for later chapters ;)  
> And yes, technically there is no British "constitution". This shocks people sometimes, but it's true that it is not written down in a single document! I also like it when Dan is sassy about his nerdiness so I just had to put that in.
> 
> What do you think about Dan's decidedly shit attitude towards Phil? I'm trying to focus more on creating three-dimensional (and flawed) characters, so if you have any thoughts on how we perceive Phil, please leave a comment! Apart from Chapter 1, we don't know anything about Phil's life or his thoughts yet, but from what we've seen through Dan's eyes, is he a bad person or just an apathetic bystander to social problems like class? Is one morally less condemnable than the other? What about Dan; is he guilty of harshly judging others and extreme self-victimisation?


	5. Coagulated Butter Sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the second part of the previous chapter but I think it functions well on its own too. Enjoy x

When the clock tower rang for lunch, Dan was positive he’d fail History. The class went by in a whirlwind; most of the other students seemed to already know half the content. Louise said that lots of children would have been educated at home until old enough to attend boarding school. Many had studied Literature, French, History, and even Music, since they could talk.

As the class filed out, Dan exchanged his Skype contact with Tyler, confident that he didn’t need to be too careful around a low-risk exchange student. The American gave him a warm hug good-bye; being enveloped in Tyler’s coat felt toasty and rather enjoyable.

He dashed out to the cloak room to get his lunch before anyone could see that it was a disappointing sandwich. The bread had gone soggy with moisture from the butter, which had coagulated.

As Dan sat on the linoleum floors with their cold finish, he could hear the chatter of ladies outside and the sound of leather shoes hitting footballs across the vast sporting grounds. Boys yelled and laughed as they chased one another around, exerting more energy than Dan had ever held in his life.

Despite feeling alone in the dark cloakroom where no one disturbed him—he almost wished someone would—he preferred it to rigorous physical activity. His limbs flailed about when he ran, so sport was not an option for making friends.

Louise later found him wandering alone around the courtyard, kicking grass about and avoiding the stares of other students in their packs of friends. She sighed at the sweet boy’s aimless circles around the square; to him, even that was preferable to the musty cloakroom.

A group of rowdy boys playing a ball-game against the castle wall didn’t bother Dan, despite their frustrated shouts and laughter when the ball sometimes bounced “out” and landed by Dan’s feet. He threw it back to them each time, seeing its bounce die well before reaching the group. They didn’t ask him to join—not that Dan was expecting them to—but waved a “thank you” at his poor throwing efforts anyway.

Some girls congregating on the steps up to the clocktower, however, were less amicable.

_What is the collective noun for a circle of gossipers?_

He could hear their comments about his awkward proportions and odd-fitting uniform. He heard the whispers that they thought were so silent.

‘Does he have any friends?’

‘Well, you can go talk to him if you want, Laura, but don’t bring the loner over here’.

‘As if’, she huffed back.

They’d continue on and, whenever he looked over to them, would spin their heads around and pretend to be in deep conversation with one another.

_How about a “murder”?_

Louise crept up behind him while he was busy growing a thicker skin. ‘Excuse me, but you’re coming with me’, she commanded.

‘What?’

She yanked him in the direction of their next class together.

~*~

The same students as in History packed in to a similarly grand classroom, although this one had individual desks arranged in rows. Louise made the choice of seat easy.

‘All the rat bags usually sit at the back, but I like the middle. Close, but not too close. There’s my friend Joe who I want you to meet, and Tyler will be here of course’. She sounded too excited for Dan’s comfort, but the introvert in him didn’t question or deny Louise.

Part of the process was meeting new people; Dan had done it so many times, but he was still nervous anyway. He had no idea how to bond with people when he knew nothing about them. He had no idea what to say; mostly he was reduced to a mumbling mess who was asked to repeat everything.

Soon, Joe walked in. Dan took note that all these nobs looked so well put together. Joe had his dirty blond hair swept to the side and Dan wondered how it ever kept shape instead of crashing into his face as he walked. His clothes were eccentric too, even for the standard of Holloway. He added a scarf and white gloves to his attire even though it was September and barely cold yet.

‘Dan, I’d like you to meet Joe’.

‘That looks nice’, Dan said, gazing at the scarf but otherwise not indicating the object of his remark.

Joe seemed confused, Louise wondered what planet Dan was on.

‘Anyway, Joe is taking A-Level Mathematics but he’s in the year below us’. She waited to see if he would jump into the conversation, or whether Dan would provide further comment to clarify the strange thoughts that left his mouth no sooner than they’d enter his mind.

But, if Dan had the confidence to converse with Lord Philip Lester, heir to a world of wealth and privilege, then surely Louise’s modest friend was easier than falling asleep. Of course, she didn’t yet know that Dan spent his nights counting sheep.

Tyler soon walked into the room and remedied the situation, introducing himself as Louise decided to just stop bothering.

‘I love the US, I can’t wait to go when I graduate! The people are just so chill’, Joe said. Tyler reminisced about his family, particularly his mother, back home.

‘You talk about your family like you’re planning to stay in England forever’, Dan commented.

“Hey, feeling a lil homesick means you come from a happy place.”

Dan smiled at that, he was happy to see that a human constantly smiling like Tyler had fond thoughts of home. Usually there wasn’t such a correlation.

‘Shame you’re only with us for Maths, Joe. We need as much back up as we can get in History’, Dan joked, alluding to the billionaires. ‘Louise, did you see the way they were staring at me before?’

‘Jesus, mate, my entire year is obsessed with them three’, Joe said. ‘I don’t get it. They’re so…’

‘Up themselves?’ Dan finished.

Louise went on to explain that Dan had accidentally befriended the billionaires. The four of them giggled over his thoughtlessness, though Tyler didn’t really understand what was so wrong with socialising. That was until the devils of which they spoke took their seats at the very back of the classroom.

‘Thank fuck no one else took these seats’, Chris whispered to the others. Phil glared at him and Chris tried to recover his composure. ‘Sorry, Phil… forgot…’

‘You’re too vulgar for a snob, you know that right?’ PJ asked.

Phil coughed, ‘New money’. The three shared a chuckle, but Dan had already turned away from eavesdropping back to his new friends. He couldn’t believe how up-himself Phil was.

 _What a fucking bell end_.

Professor Hartley soon walked into the room, although none of the students seemed to notice or care that she’d arrived. Not in the same way as Sir Richard. Dan wondered if it were an issue in rank as he was knighted whereas she was not.

Eventually, she calmed the class down and the boring number crunching began. Dan’s peers didn’t seem to have such an easy time in Mathematics as they did in History, so he felt more normal.

The billionaires plugged in some headphones to what could only be the newest generation of the iPod Nano and ignored the universe. Dan wondered if they’d scoff at his disc-man, the type that skipped whole seconds of songs because the disc would always be jumping out of line with the laser reader whenever you moved your body.

 

The clock tower struck 2.00 p.m. and the class dismantled. Louise packed up to move on, and Dan was comfortable to follow for a moment. Then he realised they probably didn’t all have the same class next. ‘Where are you guys heading now?’

'What have you got now?' Louise asked.

‘Uhm… Psychology I think. I have no idea where that is though…’

‘I’m going back to the gutter for GCSE Lit’, Joe said. ‘It’s on the opposite side of the school, but I’ll see you around?’

Dan smiled, and the boy rushed out to make his next class.

“And I have French… never done it in my life but that’s what I got,” Tyler chimed in.

‘Ha have fun with that mate’.

‘Hey Dan, I have an assignment period so I’ll walk you up to Psych if you want?’ Louise offered.

At the back of the classroom, the billionaires finally realised the class was over and took out their headphones to pack up. Phil always liked leaving last; most people would be too busy moving to the next class to notice him about in the corridors.

‘What’ve we got, boys?’ Chris asked. ‘I’m off to Film, I think’.

‘I’ve got that too, literally the only class my dad let me pick for myself. I hope it’ll be good’, Phil said.

‘They let you choose Linguistics over Lit though, didn’t they?’ PJ asked. ‘Dammit I’ve got Psych…’

‘Well, yeah, but there are only two options for English—linguistics or lit. Not much compensation for forcing me into French and Economics’.

‘Toughen up Princess, PJ is gonna have to deal with going to Psych without us plus his dad makes him do Finance at summer school’.

‘I’m not a Princess, Chris’, Phil said.

‘Close enough, your ladyship’.

‘Don’t call me that!’ Phil threw a pencil at his friend in mock frustration and PJ laughed at the two. They all knew it was true. ‘And by the way, only servants say that’.

Chris flushed with shame and PJ looked on as the passive bystander, laughing at his friend’s miscalculation.

~*~

Louise dragged Dan along, as it was clear he didn’t have the motivation to carry himself to his next class.

‘So, how are you finding your first day?’ They were almost to the classroom, so Dan was confident that he wouldn’t have to put up a façade for long.

‘Uhm… it’s been… okay I guess? I don’t know, kinda like every other school I’ve been to but also really not’. He didn’t even know what he was saying. Holloway was absolutely nothing like anywhere he’d been before.

‘Oh, really? Where did you go before here?’ Dan froze. He hit himself in his head for not at least deciding on a backstory before opening his mouth. Louise looked so inviting with her bright smile and he cringed at the thought of deceiving a lovely girl. Their friendship would be based on a lie, and that he wasn't sure he could bear.

‘Uhm… well let’s just say my last school wasn’t a damn time machine. I feel like we’re in a stage play about Jack the Ripper or something when I walk around’. Louise seemed to accept that answer and even laughed.

‘I’m kind of into fashion history and makeup. I take Fashion Design actually, so it’s kinda cool to see what people would have worn back then’. That would explain why she presented herself so much better than half the ladies at the school, Dan supposed.

‘Right, so psych is just up the stairs and then take a left’. She pointed to an oak wood grand staircase in a lobby they’d come into. Students flowed around them on both sides and carried Dan off into the crowd.

‘Thanks Lou!’ Dan let the horde carry him off. PJ, standing alone in the hall as students flowed around him, watched the exchange and dashed after him. He was curious to talk to Dan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I was a v shy and kind of awkward person at school so I didn't really need to think hard about how to write Dan pacing around the lawn with no friends to keep him company :(  
> The gossip kinda sucks, so Dan's going to feel a bit attacked and sad about that. 
> 
> I liked showing you in this chapter the close relationship (and some mad bants) between our trio, they're really just kids I guess... but Dan hates them. I also love how fiercely protective Louise is of Dan. I feel a bit bad that Dan can't open up to her, she really deserves his trust and honesty.  
> Let me know your thoughts on Dan's judgment of Phil, I think it'll be hilarious to turn it on its head later on :)


	6. Peers Pressure

PJ had been at Holloway for his entire secondary education, but he’d never been separated out from Phil in the timetabling. He should have expected it when he picked Psychology, but he liked studying people and their feelings. However, he had only thought after the fact that it probably wasn’t a self-help class.

He sighed as he came to the grand staircase. He didn’t really know what to do without his two friends, and suddenly he felt cold. It reminded him of the time his father took him to Austria and Bavaria on a business trip. With his father busy in meetings, therefore not standing over him, he ended up exploring Vienna for an entire day on his own. The cold breeze of the Danube had him shivering and he wasn’t sure where to go, what to do, or how to find the way back to the hotel.

He chuckled at the memory of his nanny scolding him once she, scared half to death, found him on the river bank. Dear Nanny Wittelsbach didn’t let him out of her sight once they’d reached Munich, so took him to see the castles of King Ludwig while his father was absent in favour of yet another directors meeting.

Once he saw Dan struggling up the stairs ahead, that’s all the chance he needed to avoid a repeat of Austria.

‘Hey, Dan! Didn’t know you were doing Psychology!’

After being caught in conversation, the two ended up sitting next to each other near the back of the room. Dan didn’t yet know why PJ chose him for the privilege when he could have befriended anyone else, but he went with it. It’d mean he wouldn’t have to suffer class alone.

‘I like people I guess. Not really in the normal way but I like observing behaviour. I guess psych is good for that’, Dan said. He didn’t want to know how PJ interpreted his words. ‘Where are Phil and Chris? If I can use those names…’

‘Don’t be silly, they’ve just gone off to Film. I probably would have done it with them, but I took a chance on Psychology this year so it’s my own fault’. PJ let out an awkward laugh. It reminded Dan of the “haha lol kidding” people attached at the end of a cheeky text.

‘Is _Film_ really a good idea when he’s gonna be a _Duke_ with lots of _serious_ _business_ to do?’ Dan asked. PJ didn’t look too amused.

‘You’re too hard on him. It’s one of the only classes he really enjoys. He’ll eventually take over from his dad, but he should be allowed to do something he actually likes before he gets there’.

Dan cast his eyes down and busied himself by taking a large textbook out of his carry bag. To him, there was nothing “poor” or downtrodden about Lord Philip Lester. Dan didn’t resent PJ for saying it, in fact the man seemed somewhat aware of himself and Dan doubted he could resent someone as lovely, but he did begrudge the words he used.

‘What about you, Dan?’

‘I guess I like all my classes. My parents don’t really mind what I pick, so I just went with stuff I liked when I did GCSEs. Except History, of course, I’m a lost puppy in that’.

‘Your parents really don’t mind?’ PJ questioned, awe like Christopher Columbus discovering a new world. ‘You’re the lucky one… my father forced me into the Business and Finance stream when I came here, and Italian for obvious reasons... I take extra Finance subjects with an army of tutors as well as German over the holidays of course, but he wants me to do Financial Accounting at Oxford after I leave here’. PJ cast his head down and rubbed his eyes in fatigue.

Dan found himself feeling sorry. It was confusing to feel empathy—or perhaps pity—for the filthy rich, but these people were still kids no matter their bank accounts. They had working lungs and a functioning heart, although Dan doubted it of Lord Philip and Chris. They probably did bleed blue rather than red.

Dan feared he’d spoken too soon with his reflection on first impressions as soon as he pictured Lord Philip ranting about his social superiority. _Fucking rich kids._

‘What would you want to do instead? You could dilute the boring stuff with the things you do like, maybe then you can give yourself a proper chance to enjoy a rich career in finance’.

‘Maybe’, PJ sighed. He said it with such resignation as if he’d travelled on that train of thought many times before to no avail. ‘I really like script writing and film, animation, all that… and acting of course. Not really sure I can fit that into a career as a banker’.

‘Write yourself a part in a script for an animated film about a banker who has to solve all sorts of embezzlement paper trail cases?’ PJ smiled but Dan could see there was no light behind it. Not in the way that there was behind his father’s smile when he talked about his days at the studio.

‘Come on, we better get on top of the practice questions or we’ll get behind’.

The two sat in silence as the class went on. Dan was surprised to see that PJ didn’t plug in his headphones at any point. In fact, he was diligently taking notes on the coursework. Dan followed his example and they even compared answers to an exercise on Social Influence. Dan saw a chapter in the textbook labelled “Peer Pressure and Conformity” and nearly fell off his seat.

‘You alright?’ PJ asked, stabilising the chair with his feet on the legs.

‘Yeah, just read something funny and it literally threw me off’.

‘Nice use of the word “literally”, not sure many people actually know what it means’.

‘Kids these days, am I right?’ Dan articulated the phrase so that he even got a laugh out of PJ.

‘What literally threw you off?’

Dan didn’t want to lie to PJ, in fact all he wanted to do was just come out with the truth and perhaps have a chance at an honest friendship with the boy. ‘The chapter title, “Peer Pressure and Conformity”. Just seems odd, you know, to encourage us to ignore peer pressure when this school is literally filled with social pressure and rules’.

PJ didn’t look so amused then. His eyes unlocked with Dan’s and roamed around in their sockets. The irony ran thick through Dan’s thoughts. ‘I think I praised your use of the word “literally” a bit prematurely…’ Dan didn’t know what to say, all he could do was mutter about getting back to work.

The two recovered over the course of the class and by the end, the hiccup was a distant memory. Dan left Psychology with PJ’s acquaintanceship and could see them getting on well. No matter how dangerous it would be to keep his secret from coming out in PJ’s company, Dan allowed the rank barriers between them to break down. Even though PJ didn’t know they existed.

Dan forgot for a moment that he was associating with the school’s third richest student and just enjoyed his unique personality. PJ was just as random and quirky and plain odd as he was when he wasn’t under any sort of social pressure.

‘Do you reckon historians a thousand years from now will use Psychology textbooks to understand how messed up in the head humans actually are?’ PJ asked as they packed their things to leave.

‘I’m sure they will, Peej. Although maybe a quick scroll through some kinky MCR fanfiction would be a clearer case study than reading one of these bad boys’. Dan held up the 500-page Psychology textbook and PJ looked mortified at the prospect of professionals reading saucy smut.

Dan let a connection grow between them because he’d learned something he never thought possible on his first day at school; even rich people could turn out to be lonely and sad, just like anyone else. He would never again make the mistake of believing that they didn’t have feelings just because they hid them. But that didn’t mean he’d ever give Lord Philip or Chris a pass on their unchecked privilege.

The two parted ways and PJ seemed optimistic about seeing more of Dan around school. It felt like a complete 180-degree turn from the way Louise described him, but then Dan remembered that he didn’t know what the trio thought of him. Not when they were all together and under the pressure to maintain some appearance of superiority.

Dan rushed to the cloak room after PJ left and waited for about half an hour in a small classroom where he knew no one would disturb him. Most of the students would live in dormitories on campus, so all he’d have to do was wait for them to leave the castle for the residential wing. Then, he’d make his escape to the rail station and no one would see him.

Dan took off his morning coat, waistcoat, top hat, and bowtie so he was down to the bare minimum. He stuffed the items into his bag and made sure to untuck his shirt. It looked more normal, less like he’d just stepped off the set of _Titanic_.

The halls were eerily empty as he rushed through them to get to the clock tower and make his way out. His thick rubber shoe soles clicked on the stone floors, echoing around the great gothic halls and vaulted ceilings until he finally made his way to the rail station. He looked like any other dishevelled school kid.

~*~

PJ almost wished he hadn’t left Dan to go back to his other two friends. The boy was cautiously reserved and clearly not looking out for his own interests. He was like PJ in that regard. His personality and outlook made the atmosphere of conversation very easy.

Of course, Chris said what was on his mind without a second thought. He was probably the snobbiest of the three when they were in private with their defences dropped. Phil always thought it was rich coming from him given he was the newest to the club and would traditionally be on the receiving end of most of the snobbish remarks himself. Together, Phil and PJ were perpetually explaining away elitism as a joke.

Phil didn’t deal well with public curiosity or scrutiny, in fact he was a nervous wreck for most of the time. So, it was easier to disengage and hide from the world—students and the press alike—by maintaining a cold image and pushing people away. It had taken a year of friendship between them for Phil to tell PJ that he hated himself for it.

On the inside, he felt like he needed to protect himself from the insincere friendships that ran rampant around the school. He couldn’t deal with the aftermath of a scandal breaking in the papers because he’d become close to someone untrustworthy.

The last time paparazzi invaded his ancestral home had been the worst day of his life; he and his parents had just returned from a funeral and were forced to lower the portcullis as the cameras arrived. Phil once told PJ that while his castle’s curtain walls and portcullis had been used to protect his family from the Scots, now it served to shield them from the flash of cameras.

PJ found his two friends sitting under a tree in the bailey, chatting and doing some homework. He wanted to join them of course, but part of him longed for a different routine than waking up and battling the world just end of a day with homework.

‘Hey Peej, we thought you weren’t coming’, Phil said, not looking up from his page.

‘Nah, I just took a bit more time getting away. How was film?’

‘T’was alright, same old same old. Few heads rolled around at “the trio” being broken up but that’s about it’, Chris said. ‘We already got a big project coming up this year—we’re meant to write and shoot a short drama film, just a few scenes or something. Thought we might do it at Phil’s place, it’s the perfect setting… if you can call it a “place”’. Phil laughed but didn’t try to correct his friend. He wasn’t sure whether he’d refer to his residence as a “house” either.

‘Well, people do call it the “Windsor of the North”’.

‘Hey, that fact is for tourists only, excuse you’, Phil said. ‘You got through Psych alive without us?’

‘Well yeah, it wasn’t so bad. Just kept my head down and studied… Usual routine’.

‘That new Dan kid is in your class, right?’ And there it was—Chris at it again.

‘Uh… yeah. Why?’

‘You’re just a bit keen on the guy is all. Thought we agreed to check him out before making any decisions. Just because her royal highness thinks he’s good looking doesn’t mean we skip the process’.

Phil rolled his eyes. ‘I do not think that! Meanwhile you want to find out how much money he has before deciding if he’s net worthy enough to talk to you…’

‘Don’t pretend you’re not a snobby prat, Philip Michael Lester; your family are millennia old land-owning tyrants. This guy, he could be anyone’.

‘All mouth and no trousers’, PJ muttered. ‘Don’t you remember what it was like when you first got here? No one could find you in Burke’s and that made you feel like shit until Phil and I decided to be your friends. Do you really want to put Dan through all that crap?’

PJ felt guilty about “background checking” a person, Dan of all people. He was non-threatening, nothing about him seemed jealous. Chris sat in his place and thought of some retort, but clearly came up blank.

‘And Phil, you already lie to yourself about so much. Don’t deny you find the guy attractive… That’s one area where I never thought you’d try to fool yourself’, PJ said.

Phil cast his eyes down and refused to look up. Part of him wanted to admit it, but he couldn’t. Instead, he bowed his head and painted on an expressionless face to continue his homework.

In the end, it wasn’t that Phil and PJ were in love with stalking people to determine the risk of associating with them, they knew it was important to protect the stability of their lives by trusting only the right kind of people. It sounded a bit harsh, and maybe Chris should have worded it better, but Phil throwing the rules out hadn’t done him any favours last time.

As far as he was concerned, PJ could jump head-first into a friendship with Dan. Phil wouldn’t begrudge him if he did, he’d stay neutral on the matter and continue to look out for himself, as he always had. Phil returned to his homework, a few quadratic equations, later checking his answers and finding them entirely incorrect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts about PJ! I find him the most interesting character next to D+P to write in this story :)


	7. Where's the Lamb Sauce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil cute cooking interlude to show you all how Dan's family operates (yes it's been ages since an update, I know... end of the year is a busy time)
> 
> Also, Dan and Tyler will have smutty deliberations over Skype towards the end of the chapter. If you don't want to read standard horny teenage boy filth then you can skip the last few lines lol

‘Mum, I’m home!’ Dan called out after the hour and a half journey. His house’s front door was always ajar if not unlocked, so he announced himself as he walked in. Luckily, he’d managed to escape all the way home without being seen. He’d take a change of regular clothes in his bag from now on.

‘Dan, honey, I’m just upstairs doing the washing! How was your first day?’ she yelled down.

Dan had to consider the question. Was it a nervous train wreck of a day? Was it successful? He’d found a friend in Louise and possibly PJ. He’d promised to Skype Tyler because apparently, he had some gushing to do.

But he’d also learned how high-pressure Holloway would be. Not only was he taking a subject load of five classes, he was also expected to navigate a ridiculous social structure—one that could chew his credibility and spit it out as an unappealing dog’s breakfast. So many social rules were to be learned, and it seemed no one would tell him what they were but would instead grumble when he got them wrong. A process of frustrating trial and error that would continue until he’d isolated himself from everyone, probably.

When Jackie came down, Dan found himself talking very fondly of Holloway regardless. For the first time, he had a real chance at becoming something more than a working-class citizen. He was associating with all the right people at this school to give him powerful connections; at least, that’s how his mother saw it.

‘But mum, I don’t care about how much money they have. I don’t wanna take advantage of their positions and treat them like “connections” that I might need to use’. What Dan didn’t say was that he just wanted to be included and he’d only feel safe if the rusty penny he was could be polished up and snuck past a teller.

Instead of confessing that, he just said, ‘I met some nice people, alright. The friendships wouldn’t be genuine if I wanted to use them as connections’.

Jackie only huffed and gave up on the subject.

‘What am I always saying about your mother, Daniel?’

‘Oh, Gran…’ Dan laughed.

She poked her tongue out at him for a moment and cackled. He loved her for it; only a grandma could get away with the things she said. ‘Your mother only wants you to make the most of an opportunity that your grandfather and I could never give her. We cannot fault her for that, even if she does show it in odd ways’.

‘So, you agree with me, right?’

‘That one shouldn’t abuse one’s friends and attract them under false pretences? Yes, I think so’. She laughed at her own words, as she often did, but all Dan could do was muster a weak grin and hide his shame.

 

When Dan came around to his History homework, he wasn’t sure that Sir Richard’s faith in him was well founded. He assumed the other students would have private tutors to help them through it. Contrary to the rich students, all he had to go on was his mother’s inaccurate historical knowledge with his father arguing over it.

‘No, darling, George I was a Hanover. The Stuarts were the ones that got kicked out!’ his dad yelled out.

‘Get my mother, she’ll put you in your place and then you’ll know what it’s like to be me’.

The elderly woman walked into the room, ready to escalate the discussion as usual. ‘In my day, women didn’t have opinions or the right to debate, dear. We waited until we were married and then our husbands told us what to think. Count yourself lucky your father isn’t with us anymore’. She laughed and no one else was sure whether to feel uncomfortable or amused.

Dan chuckled in the background at his gran’s neutrality. She never liked to take sides in intellectual debates; she preferred fanning the flames. Dan wrote down the “correct” answer and moved onto the next question while his parents continued the argument as his grandmother slipped away. He and his dad would sink or swim together.

He doubted that the other students at Holloway would trigger family wide debates over homework. It was more likely they had vast libraries of knowledge within a tutor or Governess to refer to, if not a vast library itself.

‘You seem lost in your own head, dear’.

‘Hi, Gran… I was just thinking about how the other students do their homework, is all’.

‘Probably not by setting the kitchen alight with a fiery debate’. Dan smiled at his Gran and she sat down by him in the lounge to continue talking away from the raging fire in the kitchen. ‘I keep telling you that your mother is rarely correct’.

‘Yeah but, I’m sure the other students have so much more help to get everything done than I will. I don’t get how I’m meant to keep up…’

‘Oh my dear, don’t you worry about that. Where those students will find dust covered books from times gone by and where they will have impersonal tutors to hand them the world on a plate, you have your family’. The words rattled around Dan’s head and he wanted to grip onto them—to know he had something that others didn’t.

‘Gran, that’s great, but family can’t always give you the right answer’.

‘But we are people you can always depend upon when you’re in need of a helping hand. Don’t feel badly, there are children in palaces the world over who wish they could say the same… That is worth more than an A*’.

They didn’t live in a palace or have a set of silver caviar spoons, but that didn’t matter. Dan was sure he’d feel differently when he went to school the next day, but for now doing his History homework with his grandmother was enough.

‘Dan, honey, come help your father do the lamb sauce!’ His mind was too numb by the time he finished the History work to move onto Mathematics, so he surrendered with no fuss. He wondered if PJ or Phil had ever been asked to help with family dinner.

‘Okay dad, I got the wine and the stock’. By the time Dan had found a cheap bottle, his father was opening the oven and the steam from the lamb cuts was flowing out. It heated up the room and spread the smell of juicy meat and herbs throughout the house.

‘Alright, now throw some wine into the roasting pan and heat it up. Give it a stir in with the lamb juices and we’ll see how it turns out before we put in the stock and the garlic’.

Dan started on the sauce while his mother came into the kitchen to steam some broccoli. His grandmother set the table and brought some candles out, as well as a mid-range bottle of wine she’d picked up for the occasion. Even with just the four of them, the kitchen was bustling and cosy.

‘Good job on the sauce, darling’, his mother said, squeezing him from behind and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

‘Mum! Get awaaaaay!’ Dan struggled in her grip with no force behind his words or his actions. The adults laughed before all the food was brought over from the stove to the table.

John carved up the lamb and served out all the food in as equal portions as he could manage while Dan practiced pouring the wine. His mother said it would come in handy if he ever wanted to work in a restaurant.

Soon they were all seated around the table with a glass of red wine each—Dan’s a little smaller than the others. They turned the lights off and suddenly the dirty dishes in the sink disappeared, the torn-up couch and rug in the adjacent living room vanished. It was just the Howell Clan sitting down to dinner with the soft light of the candles bouncing off the plates.

Dan took a sip from his glass once they all sat down and choked on the strong taste; he hadn’t gotten used to it yet. As if Jackie already knew what he needed, she jumped up to fetch some water and exchanged it for the wine.

‘We’ll wait until you’re 18’, she said with a chuckle. John took his glass and raised it up to toast with his family. Dan’s water came back in a wine glass so he could participate.

‘A new school and a new chance. Your mother and I are so proud of you, my dear boy’.

‘We certainly are’, she said, pushing her glass towards the centre of the table to meet the others.

‘You shouldn’t forget me, or I’ll have to refill our glasses and force you to start again’.

‘And we can’t have that, can we Gran?’ Dan clinked with the other glasses and took a sip with his family.

The four of them exchanged stories about their days and laughed along when it came to his father’s turn; he recounted an actress’ wig that had caught alight while filming with real fire. The heat from the candles kept Dan’s face warm even as they slowly melted away while the family shared the fruits of their labour. It tasted all the better as they’d each done their bit to produce something very fine indeed.

 

Dan soon hugged his parents and turned to pull into another with his grandmother; he didn’t want her to feel left out. He released himself to spend the rest of the evening as he liked.

He booted up the family PC and waited for the harsh Windows start up sounds to blast through the speakers. He so wished they could upgrade from the crude Windows 2000, but he figured they’d be waiting a while before that became a financial priority. He promised Tyler he’d be available to talk, a peculiar warmth spread through him when he signed into Skype. He didn’t have more than two or three contacts, so he’d soon figure out how happy chatting could be.

Danisnotonfire, 22.12

Tyler! U there? My time is precious u kno

                                22.14

Fuck’s sake answer, bitch

TylerOakley, 22.16

Jesus ok im here calm down

ok so u probably already guessed

Danisnotonfire, 22.16

Guessed what :P

TylerOakley, 22.18

Well Im not rly what u’d call a ladies guy

Danisnotonfire, 22.19

Lol louise was right

TylerOakley, 22.19

Ex-fuckin-cuse me????

DANIEL HOWELL WHAT U MEAN BOY ?

Danisnotonfire, 22.20

Ur not v subtle xD

Dw im glad tbf

Sometimes I look at guys and think aobout it too

TylerOakley, 22.21

Well ur not alone

Um okay yea anyway what I wanted to know

D’you reckon the hot Italian is on the market?

Danisnotonfire, 22.22

PJ? Lol never go 4 the forbidden fruit

louise reckons their all out of our league

we’re regular guys you and me

TylerOakley, 22.23

Ugh here I thought some rich European would sweep me off my feet

Fuck my life

Dan u better help me

Im already obsessed w/ that beautiful boy

Danisnotonfire, 22.27

England likes to pretend its an island in the middle of the ocean

Not in Europe lolzor!

Sry just did some dishes J

And ah.. yeah not sure im v good help

When do u go bac to US???

TylerOakley, 22.30

May next year

Danisnotonfire, 22.31

Uhm idk you can jst tell him b4 u leave and if it doesnt work out

Then u can just go back hmoe + forget about it

Or just pretend with ur hand xD

TylerOakley, 22.31

Bitch fuck off

Danisnotonfire, 22.32

Lol sry

Have u ever like…

done anything with boys?

TylerOakley, 22.32

First up ur not sorry

Second

Strap in (or on, idk wat ur in to) for story time, danny boy…

 

The two spent almost an hour going back and forth, talking about celebrities they found attractive and whether Tyler would ever get to ride the Italian motorcycle. That was the code word for “PJ”, because of course they would need one for school.

Dan stared at his idiot box until his mother came to tell him to go to bed, but he found he didn’t want to leave the conversation. Tyler made him feel normal, thinking about boys in that way was more acceptable to Dan now. Not only was the American extremely hot headed and funny, he had great stories. Dan particularly enjoyed hearing the indecent things Tyler had gotten up to in classrooms that were supposed to be locked after hours.

Danisnotonfire, 23.36

Pls tell me how u manage to get these guys

TylerOakley, 23.37

Dw I will

Btw if you need blowjob tips for philly…

Danisnotonfire, 23.37

OMG NO

FUCKING qoinio nopjTwoiN019U59032TInio4h

hes a fucking dickhead

TylerOakley, 23.38

And you wanna suck on it xxx

Gnight dan <3

And that’s when Jackie came into the room and saw some of the messages.

‘Dan, you should really be going to bed, it’s almost-’

He looked up at her with a red face.

‘Maybe we should have a chat first…’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL at Dan being caught out with his smutty deliberations at the end. I considered maybe clarifying whether Dan's mum will accept him now that she knows of his homo inclinations but let's be honest, the entire characterisation of the Howell family in this chapter is cute and warm and open so we can definitely imagine Jackie won't care. 
> 
> The way Dan's family operates will be a valuable contrast to keep in mind for later... also, I forgot how much fun writing text conversations actually is! I find writing Tyler over text is so easy, there will definitely be more text convos later on!
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked it, I always enjoy reading and responding to them x


	8. Ainsi tourne le cycle de la pauvreté

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel this chapter really fit with the previous or next so it's just short interim update to set in motion the next arc in the story :)

In the days following his orientation and the awkwardness of sex conversations with his mother—Dan finally convinced her that he wasn’t performing oral sex on a boy called Tyler and that they were merely discussing it—Dan was pleased that the Holloway students fell into a routine and were less excitable. It meant that they weren’t so curious about him. That combined with keeping his head down allowed Dan to fly under the radar. Of course, not even the stealthiest aircraft could sneak past Louise. She was as eager as ever to involve Dan in every social event possible, as he’d skipped on joining her at the school pub on Tuesday.

Things with the trio smoothed over as well; Dan had sorted out a story to avoid explaining the way he really lived, God knows how he’d survived this long without one. PJ took more of a liking to him in their Psychology classes, although he took Italian while everyone else took French so those classes were bound to be a muddle without an ally in the trio of his own. That was the reason why Friday was going to be a load of fun; double French was first up.

Louise arrived by the cloak room to walk with Dan up to class. For some reason, Chris and Phil also took French even though they both clearly hated it.

‘Another lesson with the trio? What fun…’ Dan said as they pushed through the crowds towards the B section of the castle.

‘At least it’s only two of them’. Louise split through some students to find a way through an entrance hall, Dan didn’t know how he’d manage it if she weren’t leading him.

‘I’ve already told you that PJ isn’t bad, actually I like him a lot… he’s funny, cute, smart… a bit vulnerable. But Chris is pretentious enough to make up for it’. Louise huffed and pushed on.

 

<<Bonjour tout le monde !>> Madame Carvier announced to the assembling audience. <<Aujourd'hui, vous allez faire une petite tâche écrite au sujet de la pauvreté et les sans-domicile-fixes en France. J’espère donc que vous avez fait vos devoirs.>> Louise seemed to have paid attention, but it was completely lost on Dan as they were sitting down. Phil and Chris on the other side of the room, in their seats isolated from the loud chatter, had paid attention.

 

‘She wants us to write a short piece on poverty and homelessness’, Louise whispered as Mme Carvier continued. ‘If you did the homework then it’s pretty straightforward’. Dan sat dumb struck; he didn’t need to do the homework to know how to write on the subject.

‘Thanks Lou, always looking out for me…’

‘It’s what friends are for’. She smiled at him and they began their writing tasks.

 

<<Bon, c’est fini !>> Mme Carvier looked up from her watch as the students lowered their pens. Dan’s fingers ached from writing so fast, and Louise laughed at him when he raised his left hand to see that most of the ink ended up on his skin rather than the page.

<<I want that you each share what you have wrote, if you please. Then, explain everyone on which part of poverty you focused and why.>> Dan felt his face go pale as she looked around the room like a vulture searching for prey.

<<Louise, perhaps you will start ?>>

Dan sank back into his seat as Carvier made her way through the room, each presentation sounding more and more out of touch than the last. Until it came to Phil. His name was called and he went blue in the face as he moved from his seat to stand before the entire class at the front. He gulped and looked down at his page, trembling.

Lester wasn’t exactly an eloquent French speaker; his pronunciation was shocking and he stammered like the late King. His head bowed down to read notes from his paper, avoiding Carvier’s disapproving stares.

<<New government initiatives to fight against homelessness try to remove the symptom but not the problem,>> Phil read out from the page. He couldn’t annunciate clearly and had to stop to take a breath, swallow some spit building up around his tongue, and collect himself before he continued.

<<In fact, recently plans were made to construct spikes underneath bridges around Paris to stop people from sleeping there…>> Phil trailed off as he discussed the various human rights offenses triggered by government action.

He held himself up towards the end as he reached his final sentence. <<I chose this aspect of homelessness because politicians feel it is easier to ignore homelessness instead of confronting it and funding shelters, training programs, and other investments in these people’s futures.>>

Phil breathed out as if the sensation were new and moved back to his seat. The trembling had stopped by the time the class gave the customary clap. Dan surprised himself when his hand struck the other and soon found himself clapping Phil off alongside the others.

Carvier finally fixed on Dan as they came to the last six people left to present. He tried to keep his features under control and his face stone cold, which proved difficult as he shuddered to pick up his notebook. The ink smudged all over the page was challenging to read but he put on the strongest display he could to get through it. The other students weren’t particularly interested in the presentations after ten students had already done them, though that didn’t ease the coldness in Dan’s fingertips as he gripped the page.

<<Poverty in France is like poverty here. We know it exists but we try not to think about it. We imagine that it’s a problem far away from us when really it is all around. Poverty isn’t just homeless people with nowhere to go. It’s people trapped in poor housing, underqualified workers with no hope of competing against the privileged and educated…>>

Dan got lost in his words and forgot the class was listening, but when he raised his eyes to look around the room; every head had turned. Judgmental icy stares came from each student and all Dan could do was hang his head and sway in his place. He must have sounded like a turkey in favour of Christmas, but of course he was more of a pigeon.

‘Calm down, Marius’, Chris muttered across the room, eliciting giggles from the class. Carvier shooed Dan back to his seat where Louise was waiting for him with wide eyes.

‘Daniel, the revolutionary’, Louise joked. Dan smiled and lowered his head to escape the stare from Carvier before the next student came up to present. All the while, Phil kept his eye on the boy with a curious gaze, ignoring another of Chris’ references—this time to Rosa Luxemburg’s unfortunate demise—and leaving him to laugh at his own joke.

~*~

‘Still think we should background him after that, Chris?’ Phil asked as Carvier dismissed the class. Everyone spare Louise was staring at Dan and Phil for their odd performances. Phil was surprised anyone even understood what he was saying in his speech through his awful accent.

‘Even more so. But since when is it about what I think? Don’t be a dafty Philly, we have to check him. Non-negotiable. It’ll be my weekend project. That way her ladyship won’t have to get her hands dirty with common work’, Chris smiled as if he’d enjoy trawling through someone’s life history and ancestry before Phil shoved him in the arm, resulting in a cackle from Chris.

The laughter died down when Carvier hung up the phone on her desk and walked over to address Phil while everyone else shuffled off to lunch.

‘Philippe, the front desk wants that you come right away. There is a message from your parents’. She stayed to explain what she knew and then shooed the boys out.

‘Well Carvier doesn’t give a shit, does she?’

‘The French don’t care about families like mine’. Rather, perhaps no one in the world—save for social climbers—cared about families like his. Phil breathed out as they walked through the sea of students littering the corridors. He mentally prepared himself for what he thought his parents might want.

‘Do you need to get that message right now? PJ’ll be waiting and today is the first lunch club of the semester…’ Sometimes Phil really thought that Chris paid attention to nothing.

‘Yes I need to get it. Dad’ll throw me off a bridge if I don’t. You’ve met him, you know what he’s like’. Chris yelled a goodbye as he left for the bailey to meet PJ.

Phil observed a moment of silence for himself as Chris ran off; his parents probably had some cracking scheme they wanted to drag him into. Or maybe his dad finally got sick of his apathy to the family name and was ready to rip his heir’s skin off. The students flowed around him as if he were a rock in a river. He felt in his bones that this wasn’t the pleasant kind of invisibility wherein one feels relaxed.

The crowds of students filtered out of the building by the time Phil made it to the front desk. He shuffled the whole way in the hope that he might never reach his destination. He heard the blood in his ears thump as it circulated when he enquired about the message to the lady behind the counter.

She passed him a long, thin piece of paper with bold black letters printed onto it. Wrapped inside the note were two orange rail tickets and a collection receipt. The note looked like an archaic telegram; people only sent those when a family member died or the sender was unavailable to attend a wedding. As he untied the note from the tickets, he saw it was ironically a break from the latter’s tradition.

_HSH is waiting. –Papa_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every in-class activity at Holloway must be massively triggering for Dan but that's okay. He can cope... I think. Phil is just as confused and curious about Dan as Dan is about Phil #character development but not really because we all know Phil isn't a snob deep down  
> Chris is a bit of a stalker but let's be real, who isn't? I swear some of my friends should join MI6 or something lol!  
> Mysterious note for Phil at the end... It'll be revealed next chapter but put any guesses for what HSH means below if you like!
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you like what I'm doing so far! I love hearing your thoughts on the story :)


	9. HSH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louise ropes Dan into Friday Lunch Club. PJ and Chris try to make sense of those three letters, HSH, and what they mean for their friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And no, you will not be getting answers about HSH this chapter, but there are a few hints along the way, especially in the school classes!
> 
> (Also, I realised that I made a mistake and that HSH isn't actually the right term for the specific person it was meant to refer to... is there a Harry Potter spell to cast away a reader's disbelief? suspendo credo! There. Done)

Phil couldn’t believe his eyes. The pit in his stomach grew deeper for every second he looked at the note.

_HSH is waiting._

He was sure of what it meant. He’d spent his life fearing the very moment that this letter, note, whatever it was to be called, would come.

‘Are you alright?’ the lady behind the counter asked. He’d been standing at the front desk holding up the line for at least a minute while he read over the note and the accompanying rail tickets many times. A first-class single from Egham to Waterloo, and the connection from King’s Cross to Alnmouth. His father had booked the fast train.

‘Erm, do you have a phone I could use?’ She pointed to the drawing room opposite the reception desk and Phil managed to amble inside and close the door before anyone saw his face break. He fell into an armchair and felt his features go weak as they relaxed, not straining to remain composed. No, he wasn’t going to cry. Not until he knew more.

Among the couches and tables in the room, there were a few landlines dotted around next to unnecessarily large vases with fresh flowers in them. Phil’s breath got caught in his throat before he even picked up the bloody thing.

 _You haven’t even dialled yet_.

Phil pushed all the tingling in his stomach straight down where it settled. He entered the calling code for his father’s county and waited. He gulped as the dial tone came through before it was cut off by a voice.

‘Good afternoon, you’re speaking to Mrs Danvers. How may I help you?’ Phil let himself breathe and smile when he heard the warm and broad Northumbrian accent of the housekeeper.

‘Mrs Danvers, I’m so glad you picked up. It’s Phil, I really need to speak to dad about a note he sent me’.

‘You best not let him catch you announcing yourself like that, lad’, she said with a laugh before channelling her voice to deliver disappointing news. ‘Although I am very sorry, his grace is quite busy right now and asks not to be disturbed. But I’ll send him word that you’ve called’. She stiffened when she heard Phil sigh in defeat on the other end.

‘Oh and… Mrs Danvers, do you know if there’s a special “guest” staying at the house this weekend?’

‘No, not that I know of. We’d have been told several weeks ago if any special visit had been planned. His grace did say that we should prepare for his lordship’s return this evening, but other than that no one is coming, no one is staying’. She paused for a moment and Phil thought he’d lost the line. ‘Not to be impertinent, but why do you ask? That is… is something the matter?’

‘No, no, nothing at all. Just thinking aloud. I’ll see you at the station when the train gets in?’

‘Very good, mi’lord’. The woman hung up after the line cut and remained seated for a moment by the telephone. A wave of sadness washed over her; the sweetest soul under her roof was about to be traded like currency.

 

 

As it was Friday, PJ and Chris were waiting for Phil at the first lunch club of the school year. It was held in an unused classroom but the social atmosphere felt inviting. Long windows looking out onto the lawn around the castle let in plenty of light so that all the wooden panelling and oil paintings on the walls had a shine bouncing off them.

A few tables in the centre of the room were set up in a horse shoe with a diverse setting of takeout foods on them in large serving bowls and platters. Fresh pasta, curries, pizza, fried rice, even some sushi, were all laid out for the taking. There was even a cheese board which Phil avoided like the plague as he walked in.

It was mostly his friends (which were really limited to PJ and Chris) and acquaintances that attended these luncheons, but there were bound to be a few new faces in the first week of semester. Chris would want to check their stories before considering additions to the small group of three friends, of course.

The chatter spread a light, happy air though the room as Phil entered. Students took plates of food and returned to the lounge sets dotted around the room to enjoy with their friends.

Unfortunately, as none of them were of drinking age, wine wasn’t provided outside of the school-sanctioned pub, which disappointed PJ’s Italian heart. Phil found his two friends in a corner whispering about something.

~*~

As it was the first luncheon of the academic year, Louise pulled Dan along as her guest. He didn’t seem to have anything to eat that day. He’d skipped on coming to meet her and Joe at Tap on Tuesday, so she roped him into at least one social event to kick-off his time at Holloway. She hoped he’d start coming regularly, especially as he acted as highborn as they came—his thin form made his body look like the envy of tight-lacing Edwardian women, and she found herself concerned for his food intake.

‘I’ll have to come over and fire your cook if he doesn’t start sending you off with lunch’, Louise said. Dan had no way of getting around that one, so gave up protesting his attendance. He walked alongside Louise to the classroom instead of making her drag him by the ear.

‘It’s not a problem with a cook, I just don’t eat that much at lunch is all. We do big dinners at home’, Dan said, while a soggy butter and egg sandwich squished around in his pocket.

‘My dad is really traditional like that as well, he makes us sit down to the full ten course dinner on Saturdays and for formal dinners…’

‘How does that even work?’

‘Usually you eat only two thirds of each course, and you’re meant to eat over about three or four hours with a break after every third course for digestion as well’.

‘Jesus fucking Christ’, Dan muttered under his breath.

‘There’s this interesting iced rose water we get in the middle of dinner, it “cleanses” the palette or some rubbish like that’.

‘Sounds absolutely necessary’. Louise laughed and pulled him inside.

While Dan and Louise were grabbing plates of food, PJ was in the middle of hugging Phil and Chris was shocked into silence.

‘Gosh Phil, I’m so sorry… You really think they’re gonna sell you to the highest bidder?’ PJ asked. He felt restricted by his family situation sometimes, with his dad always working in Austria, but it was nothing like what Phil went through on a daily basis with his parents. ‘Fuck this, it’s not 1880 or some fucked up Jane Austen book, this can’t even be legal!’

‘It’s more dad pushing for it than mum… She’s sent me so many emails, but I haven’t answered any. “Don’t mind your father”, she always says, and “it’s your choice in the end”. But it’s not, is it? Dad can just cut me off, how would I even survive? Everything I cook catches on fire’, Phil said when PJ released him. He rubbed his eyes to keep any tears from falling. ‘I’m worthless. I’d be lucky if I lasted long enough to starve’.

Chris huffed as he finished a plate of sushi. ‘The solution is obvious mate, come live with one of us if your old farts kick you out. PJ’s parents aren’t there half the time, and my parents really like you’.

‘You’d do that? For me?’

Chris could be vain in his attempts to console people, in fact his lack of a social filter usually led to a lot of pain, but Phil could see why they were all friends in moments like this. He loved them like the brother who was no longer with him.

‘We’re your friends, Phil, you’d do the same’, PJ reassured him.

‘Too bad we probably won’t ever get to find out…’

‘This is depressing as fuck, how bout we come to London with you and go shopping before your train, see a show, or whatever. It’s almost the weekend’. Chris was never going to be as sensitive as Phil, that much was true, but Phil felt lighter that his friends cared for him enough to accompany him to London.

~*~

Dan and Louise had been talking for the entire luncheon; Dan was proud of himself for keeping to his story, which no one seemed to have doubted so far. He’d settled on impersonating the son of an ex-pat industry baron with a job in India; some years ago, his family had taken a holiday there, so he could make his father’s imaginary employment convincing.

His heart skipped a beat when PJ saw the two of them as the bell rang. The three of them had Literature together while Chris and Phil were off to Linguistics. He couldn’t wait to brag to Tyler about his time “up close and personal” with PJ during class, even though he didn’t feel anything beyond superficial attraction for him. He knew it’d set the American’s teeth on edge anyway.

PJ, on the other hand, was initially terrified of being separated from his two friends for this class and others, but at the end of the first week he was rather happy about it. He’d never have spoken to half the people in these classes beforehand.

Louise, PJ, and Dan walked to Literature where their teacher, Sir Darcy Fitzwilliam, was already waiting.

‘Good afternoon, I hope you’ve brought your reading material. We’ll be starting our discussion of Jane Austen today, and then talking about it in context with the holiday reading you did on Georgiana Spencer. Don’t forget, you’ll be expected to choose a topic inspired by the readings and present it to the class after the half-terms’. Sir Darcy continued on about the importance of “not doing it the night before” which Dan sniggered at.

The three of them sat down next to each other, and Louise didn’t seem to mind that one of the “toxic” billionaires was in her presence. However, she did glare at Dan to stop making jokes at the teacher’s name while PJ hid his face in his desk to stop himself from laughing like a fool.

‘Now, I’ll give you five minutes to talk amongst yourselves about the questions on the board, and then we can run through some ideas to get you all on the right track for the oral presentations’.

PJ and Louise seemed to be getting on very well indeed as the three of them engaged each other.

‘Well, obviously Elizabeth Bennett is an independent girl who values her own happiness outside of the expectations society has of her to make a good marriage’, PJ said. Louise was quite impressed; he’d done the reading and made intelligent contributions. It was such a change from the quiet guy who sat between Chris and Phil in isolation.

‘But don’t you think it’s a bit silly of her at some points? I mean, she’s a woman so she can’t inherit her dad’s money. She knows she needs to marry to survive or she’ll have no life. Then the perfect guy comes along, a guy she could actually be happy with, and she flat out rejects him’, Dan said.

‘But that’s exactly it, it’s a matter of principle. Lizzie rejects Mr Darcy even though you could say she needs him. It’s like PJ said, she values her own happiness above everything else. You get to see that when she refuses to settle for a man she doesn’t think she likes, even if the match is socially advantageous for her. That’s how she thinks at first anyway’.

Dan grumbled while Louise and PJ chatted away about the pressures in society put upon women to marry and have children, and the stigma against a man who can’t find a partner. They both knew far better than Dan that it continued even in the modern world, so he kept his mouth shut and hoped he wouldn’t give himself away.

Meanwhile, PJ kept his own secret. His deep empathy for Lizzie in fact came from his own best friend. Louise had taken that to mean that PJ had done his reading and his homework, as any studious individual would. But like Dan and the French presentation on poverty, PJ didn’t need to do the homework to talk about arranged marriages as portrayed by Jane Austen.

Soon, the class was over and the weekend was almost within reach. Dan couldn’t wait to get home and gush all about his class time with PJ for Tyler’s benefit.

‘Hey guys, before you go, Phil’s heading home for the weekend so Chris and I were going to see him off and do some shopping in London or something like that after school. Do you wanna come with?’

The question hit Dan in the face like a pile of bricks. ‘Erm, thanks but I should really be getting-’

‘That sounds fun!’ Louise squealed, clapping her hands in excitement. ‘Where should we meet after classes?’

Dan felt another nail hammer itself into his coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip Dan trying to make it through an outing in London without spending his life savings tbh!
> 
> I'm also really curious to see if anyone has ideas about what happened to Phil's brother! It's not a happy plot point and it will not be explicitly stated but it's going to have major implications for Phil's character. 
> 
> Just on that: in the beginning, I decided to leave Dan's real-life sibling out of the fic (for obvious reasons if any of you remember that can of worms) and I decided somewhere along the line that I didn't really want to write Martyn either, it just felt too weird? idk. I had the same issue about writing Dan's parents, which is why I changed their names to John and Jackie (there's an easter egg in there as well just so y'all don't think I'm lazy). As for Phil's parents, we will meet them soon! But I will change their names because their characters do some really terrible things in this fic and it seems really wrong to represent real people who didn't sign-on for YouTube stardom in such a poor way. I hope that makes sense?


	10. The Vetting Criterion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil, being summoned back to the family seat in northern England, travels to London with a party to see him off. What can four rich teens and one young pretender get up to on the west end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling mega inspired this week, so here, have another chapter!

‘You did _what?_ ’ Chris asked. The trio were at their usual place in the inner bailey after school. PJ told Dan and Louise to meet them there as well, so they could travel to London together.

‘It’s not a big deal, Chris. I can be friendly with Louise, and Dan… well… you know’, Phil said. He really didn’t mind, in fact he was very excited. He never felt like he could approach Dan; the boy just didn’t seem to like him. When Phil thought about it, Dan was quite standoffish—maybe things would improve outside of the school environment.

After a week, the bite of disappointment whenever Dan would catch Phil staring and then look away from him, made him feel inadequate. He began to think he’d overlooked some detail that made Dan loathe his company, when he’d always thought himself so tactful and perceptive. Truthfully, that hurt Phil’s confidence quite deeply. For the first time since Martyn, Phil felt like opening up. He privately hoped Dan would do the same once they would arrive in London, the city where no one cared who was friends with whom and who did what and why. Londoners were too busy trying to get a seat on the bus to even notice other people.

‘But we haven’t even checked him!’

‘What’s the matter, Chris? Scared you’ll catch a plague from someone with a castle smaller than Phil’s?’

Phil laughed and the three shut up when they saw Louise and Dan approaching underneath the clock tower. Dan must have said something insensitive, for Louise scolded him before they could come within earshot of the trio. Phil let out a sigh and averted his eyes; he didn’t want anyone to know a stranger’s low opinion of him affected him so, but he couldn’t help feeling sad and dirty that Dan, of all people in the world, found him that despicable.

 

The train ride into London wasn’t long. The five of them slotted into pairs of seats, Phil next to Dan, PJ next to Louise, and Chris more than happy to sit opposite them staring out the window, saying nothing.

Phil tried talking with Dan, who spent more time huffing than responding. PJ and Louise seemed to have hit it off more successfully, bonding over their similar low-opinions on various students and teachers. Rather ironic given that the Italian once would have been on such a list of Louise’s, but she was willing to give the boys a chance. That is, coming to London with them was the path of least resistance and she needed to meet a dressmaker to organise a gown for the January Winter Ball anyway.

Chris sweated with the anxious need to just get back home and search through some records to work out who this Howell guy was. When he had an itch to know something, even if it were the name of an actor he’d forgotten, he needed to find out. It kept his mind occupied all the way to Waterloo.

‘So, Dan, what do your parents do?’ This was the fourth time Phil had tried and failed to start a conversation. He hoped to figure out why Dan was so unresponsive, who felt this could be a good opportunity to really test out his story and refine it.

‘I can’t really talk about what my dad does, non-disclosure and all’.

‘Oh… Sorry, I just thought, maybe if we knew each other a bit more…’ Phil mumbled. _Then?_

‘Right, yeah, sorry. Only that he does a lot of directing and big business for some research companies. They’re all in India unfortunately, so dad’s away a fair bit’. Dan was proud of himself for getting through that part of the story unharmed. He figured that Phil wasn’t going to quit trying to befriend him, so now was as good a time as ever to test his “facts” out. If Dan’s apathy to friendship couldn’t scare Phil off, then he may as well give in and talk to the guy.

‘Oh, you should talk to PJ, his dad isn’t at home much either. Do you ever travel with your dad?’

‘Not usually, it’s a long way to go. We were in India for a bit when I was younger. Probably why everyone thinks I’m new here, because I sort of am’. Dan laughed like one would following an insensitive joke. He knew he should feel guilty for lying; it did make him uncomfortable, but not enough to come clean. Never enough for that.

‘Is it nice?’ Phil asked. Dan smiled and looked down at his fiddling hands. He’d been to India once when he was 12 on family holiday. His parents saved up for a few years to afford the tickets. They ended up flying economy, at the back of the plane where no one wanted to sit, along the longest and cheapest flight path possible.

Gatwick to Tel Aviv to Dubai to Singapore to New Delhi. It took thirty hours in the end with the delays and transit.

He could still remember waiting at the gate lounge for ten hours in Singapore; their flight was cancelled last minute and they couldn’t afford to secure tickets with another airline, so they had to wait for the next available flight from the same carrier.

‘Nice enough, but very hot. I’ve seen the Taj Mahal a few times, and last time I went, we got to tour around New Delhi, Mumbai, a few other places. The Himalayan foothills are cool too’. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he’d seen the Taj on three consecutive days—that counted as “a few times”—and he’d played the Himalayan level of the newest Tomb Raider game.

‘I’m jealous, dad doesn’t usually let me go anywhere. Where else have you been?’

Dan was surprised at how nice and conversational Phil was being. The way Phil would smile at him when he would reply to his questions, the way his voice went up at the end of sentences, it was too sweet. The cynic in Dan found it suspicious. Yet still, none of this peripheral information changed Lord Philip Lester’s basic facts. He was still a member of an oppressive class, a land-owning tyrant soaking up the wealth of the vulnerable, someone who any working-class individual should find disgusting.

Dan didn’t hate many people, but Lord Philip Lester’s basic facts were grounds to hate no matter how lovely his fake warmth was. Dan was determined not to be fooled by the pretty façade.

 

The five of them were making their way off the train and heading towards Oxford Street after a few minutes of Dan discussing a trip to Paris he took a decade ago as if it were recent.

London was as busy as ever; it was almost half 4 and everyone was rushing away from work as early as possible. Individual people with individual lives that Dan knew nothing about passed him by. Some talked on their phones, men and women in uncomfortable corporate wear pushed through crowds to get to tube stations. Dan had a hard time believing they all had their own stories; in a city as big as this, he just couldn’t comprehend how eight million people passed through in one day. Eight million people, eight million stories.

Dan looked over to the others, they didn’t seem in the slightest astounded by this revelation. Like seasoned London-goers, they carried on.

After half an hour of strolling around Selfridges and the surrounding stores, PJ had managed to buy a collection of handmade chocolates for £25. Louise had £5000 remaining on her dress allowance for the year and decided to put a deposit down with a dressmaker for the Winter ball. Chris came out with two pairs of new leather shoes and ended up buying some jeans and a shirt so he wouldn’t have to wear his uniform around London.

‘You didn’t end up buying anything, Dan?’ PJ asked.

‘Nah, I don’t really need anything right now. I mean, I’ve got plenty of clothes and I guess I’m not a very material person, y’know?’ Dan put his hands in his pockets, where he could feel a tenner and fiver.

Dan raised his eyebrow at Phil when they left Selfridges. He only seemed interested in a cute beanie, a tiny silver bell, and a blue wool jumpsuit for a baby. How queer the prospect, Dan thought.

‘Not thinking of having one of your own, are you?’ Dan asked.

‘Mum’s maid is expecting. She’s been with us since I was a kid, thought it might be nice to surprise her with a few gifts when I go back later tonight’. For a moment, Dan thought Phil was better than he believed. Then he realised that an ulterior motive was more fitting.

 _He wants to impress you. He’s like a rich white girl voluntouring overseas with daddy’s money and snapping photos to put on MySpace. He wants to make you think he gives a shit_.

‘I thought maids in those big houses weren’t meant to marry? That can’t make you very happy’. Dan had heard someone complaining about servants having lives outside of grovelling on an _Upstairs, Downstairs_ episode one night. He wondered if it offended the grand lords and ladies to not have anyone wait on them while a wretched servant was going through a life changing process.

‘In my great-great grandfather’s day, maybe. But the maids can marry if they want… Jane’s gonna raise her little boy on her own anyway’. Phil didn’t say anything more as the five of them walked down to Piccadilly Circus for an early dinner.

A few painfully silent minutes between the boys passed before Phil spoke again. ‘Actually, it was my idea to give expecting mothers three month’s paid leave before the due date and we give them their full salary for the 39 weeks after the babies are born. We even have a nursery setup for the single parents in one of the staterooms, that way they don’t have to pay a fortune for day-care when they come back to work’.

‘Alright...’

~*~

 

Piccadilly was a tsunami of lights from advertising screens swamping Dan’s eyes when they arrived. The square was packed, as it always was, with tourists snapping pictures of the fountain in the middle. The horns of busses and cars flooded the air. Phil’s favourite London restaurant was right in the middle of all the action.

‘Oh Phil, you should have said you were taking us here, I love The Criterion!’ Louise sounded infatuated as her eyes perused the fancy restaurant’s menu. Some of the best soups, lamb, and chocolate soufflé came out of this place.

The inside of the Criterion was a lavishly decorated roaring 20s hall. A long bar stretched from the entrance, past the tea tables near the street-end which hosted many double-breasted jackets and moustaches, and then down to some steps which led to the more private dining settings. The ceiling was a golden-tiled intricacy that seemed so elegant, with large chandeliers straight out of Versailles hanging down. Lining the walls were columns and arches with golden patterns swirling up them and following the skirting where the walls met the delicate carvings on the ceiling.

The ushers and waiters all wore white tie and immediately stepped towards the group to welcome them in.

‘Welcome to The Criterion. Would you care for some drinks, perhaps some tea?’ The waiter sounded Italian, apparently the restaurant was known for hiring authentic, continental staff.

‘We were looking to eat, actually. A table for five’, Phil said. He watched the waiter open a booking’s leger, ready to ask for a reservation they hadn’t made. ‘We haven’t booked unfortunately, we were hoping you might have something open’. The waiter looked up and frowned, as if to comment on some tactless remark.

He straightened up and adopted an indifferent tone. ‘I’m very sorry, we don’t seem to have any tables at the moment. You might make a booking in future; tonight, we have a large party for the Grosvenors, and I’m sure you can appreciate that our Friday evenings play host to some very well-respected clients’. Phil went red in the face and quickly trained his features to revert to a doll-like and emotionless look.

‘Of course. You can write us in your book under Lord Philip Lester for when a table is available’. Phil took out a pen from his bag and scribbled the number for Mrs Danvers’ direct landline on one of the restaurant’s business cards. ‘You can reach my housekeeper here, who I’m sure will take a message’. The waiter stiffened, and his eyes stopped moving for a second.

‘You are of the Lester family?’

‘Yes. I am, actually’.

‘I apologise a thousand times, I must have misread tonight’s bookings. In fact, I can see a cancellation for 5.00. If you’d please follow me through, my lord’. The man wiped his forehead and the five students walked past, leaving him to follow. Phil looked back over his should to snigger with his friends.

Several waiters stepped forward to seat the five of them down to a very large table in the middle of the private dining area. Dan had his seat pulled out and slotted in underneath him as if it were magically moving all by itself.

‘Please do not hesitate to ask if you require anything to make your evening more enjoyable’, the waiter said with a smile. Phil brushed him off after menus appeared in each of their hands.

Dan opened his and saw a few dishes he might like; the food wasn’t as expensive as he thought. £15 for a soup. It was still outrageous of course, but he was already seated, and it seemed unavoidable. At the very least, he could pick the cheapest dish and cut his losses to £10 or so.

Phil sat next to him and leaned over to whisper, ‘Thank God the waiter’s a social climber’. It made Dan laugh, and he thought for a moment that Phil might not be so stuck up. Even if he used his title to push into a restaurant.

‘Should we get some hors d’oeuvres to share?’ PJ asked. Chris was busy looking through the dessert section to “plan” his meal from back to front. Louise wasn’t sure what she wanted, and Phil already knew he’d end up ordering his favourite four items on the menu after fifteen minutes of staring at it, but he looked through the other options anyway.

Despite Chris being quite standoffish, Dan respected him for his meticulous approach to the menu. If he had even a tenth of Chris’ wealth and paid exorbitant amounts at fancy restaurants, he’d be making sure he ate the very best cuisine to come from the kitchen as well.

Of course, he didn’t have even a tenth of that wealth. Dan felt panic rise inside him when he realised that the cheaper meals he’d been looking at were the antipasti. Several bottles of spring water appeared on the table, each costing £5 as listed in the fine print. The plats principaux ranged from £25 to £50 and the desserts didn’t dip lower than £19.

Apparently, The Criterion prided itself on attracting London’s upper-class guests and politicians, which the menu listed in bold writing. Sir Winston Churchill, the Crawley sisters, and all sorts. Dan could hit himself for being so foolish as to even come to London with the others.

‘What are you having, Dan?’ Phil asked him.

Even with all the preparation of a backstory, Dan had no idea of how to avoid this one. He’d never get away from this place without throwing away £50 that his family did not have if they indeed all ordered a mountain of food to share in cost if not in portions.

‘Uhm, I’m not really sure. Louise force fed me at lunch, so I was thinking I’d get a cheese plate and just pick off that…’ The cheese plate looked to be only £12 or so, he could get away with that. His parents would still probably hit him over the head, albeit with a pillow. He now felt very grateful for the £15 in his pocket.

‘Oh, come on Dan, you have to eat something’, Chris said. ‘What about the lobster?’

Usually when people used these words, they meant it in a caring way, as if worried about the nourishment of the other person. Dan had the impression that Chris didn’t at all mean it that way.

Dan shifted in his seat and everyone else looked at him.

‘Did you know that lobster used to be peasant food, Chris?’ Dan shot back. ‘Yeah, it used to be overfished to the point that we used it for fertiliser, and only peasants would eat it. But someone one day just decided to jack the price of a lobster plate up by a couple thousand percent, and voila, instant hit…’

Chris retreated into his chair, the silence gathering with everyone’s attention on Dan as the poor boy curled up into himself and cast his eyes into his lap. He’d only spurred Chris on and PJ had no intention of speaking up to diffuse the situation this time; no one had ever really clapped back at Chris like that.

‘Okay, keep your calm! Just that _we_ are all gonna be having a _feast_ and _we_ are _so_ eager to know more about _you_. I just thought you might like it… Plus, this is probably Phil’s last ever night of freedom-’

‘That’s enough, Chris’. Phil’s tone, just like with the snotty waiter, was enough to shut him down.

‘“Last ever night of freedom”. What’s that all about?’ Louise asked the table. Dan would have wondered himself if he wasn’t feeling so small and foolish in that moment.

‘It’s nothing. Let’s just forget about it…’ A waiter thankfully came by and Phil went through everyone’s orders before Chris could say another word. The waiter left for the kitchen with Dan’s request for the cheese plate etched into his mind.

 

Soon, several plates appeared on the large table, and suddenly Dan was unaware which knives he should use to cut the various cheeses he found on his plate. Pecorino, cheddar, blue cheese, camembert, double brie… he didn’t quite know where to start. He snuck one knife from a selection of five and cut his cheeses while everyone else was busy marvelling over the mains.

Louise squealed at her hot tomato soup, with its creamy consistency and aesthetic basil leaves shredded throughout. PJ had his lemon grilled salmon and a glass of the most expensive sauvignon blanc he could find on the menu, and then Chris’ peasant lobster arrived. A huge silver tray with the vibrant cooked shellfish on top, cushioned by a bed of mixed salad, took everyone’s breath away. Phil seemed quite happy with his Neapolitan pizza; simple yet tasty.

‘Dad never lets me get take-out pizza, and he sort of hates foreign stuff so the cooks don’t dare…’ Phil explained when Dan asked about his choice. Despite now having melted cheese on his pizza, Phil almost requested to switch places with PJ over the stench of Dan’s blue cheese.

‘So you’re only good with cheese if it’s on pizza?’ Dan asked. Phil nodded his head, looking as if he were about to be sick.

‘Don’t question me, Daniel’.

So, Dan popped the remaining wedge of blue cheese into his mouth and washed it down with some of the £5 Voss water that the restaurant used as “table” water. Ridiculous. He smiled his clean teeth at Phil to show that his worst nightmare had been removed from the world.

Phil restrained himself from overanalysing Dan’s act of kindness in stemming the source of the stench.

 

‘Are you sure you won’t go hungry with just a cheese plate?’ Phil asked, now that everyone else was on their dessert whereas Dan had finished his plate some time ago and awkwardly refused dessert when the waiter asked.

‘Yes, I’ll be fine!’ And then his stomach grumbled. _Fuck._ ‘I don’t feel like eating any-’

And that was when Phil lifted his spoon, carrying a piece of the most delicate soufflé, and popped it straight into Dan’s mouth mid-sentence. Dan moaned at the fluffy cloud between his lips, not attempting to hide his shame.

‘Wow… uhm… Are you sure you’re not still hungry?’

PJ coughed, and Louise looked shocked as though she’d seen a ghost. Dan had to focus all his energy into nodding, when really, he eyed the remaining food on everyone else’s “finished” dessert plates, wishing he could inhale all their delicious contents. And that’s when his resolve broke.

‘Feed me, daddy’, Dan joked. 

And so it went, Phil scooping his dessert into the open and begging mouth of a man who he knew hated his guts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously can't wait for the Winter Ball to come. I have so many plans to destroy these characters' lives, you have no idea!
> 
> Aww I felt so bad for Phil, writing a situation where he has no idea what Dan is feeling seems quite realistic but also very heartbreaking? A lot of the time I feel that both characters have valid reasons for feeling defensive / hurt towards and by each other but I have to remember that they're both trying their best... And yes, this chapter is based off a real restaurant, and yes, the water does actually cost £5 a bottle. Sry this fic just turned into a horror story.
> 
> And let's be real though, Phil can be a bit daddy-ish when he's wearing them glasses of his... Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	11. Crossing the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil reflects on how he had rather enjoyed being called "daddy" as he races up to Northumberland on the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: There is a warning at the bottom of this note for content included in this chapter, don't read it if you don't like spoilers but do if you would usually check the archive warnings.
> 
> This chapter was really hard to write and is quite long. I probably went back to it maybe 15 times to get it to a point where I thought I could upload it and be proud of it. I hope it's been worth the wait, I think it's only one day late though, so that's not too bad!
> 
> WARNING: There is explicit violence and abuse in this chapter. I put the part where it starts in bold, so you can skip everything after the bolded line if you don't want to read about the abuse.

The stop at The Criterion had been a rushed affair, with Phil having to run away straight after dessert. Lucky for him, as he wasn’t sure he could take Dan’s flirtatious jokes any longer. Had he really been called “daddy”? He’d been called many things in his life, but never that. Stranger still, as Phil boarded the first-class coach on the north-bound at King’s Cross, he realised that he had liked it.

Yet he had no reason to believe that Dan liked him in any way at all. In fact, his jokes had probably been to test how flustered and pathetic Phil would become. Dan’s true intention was to pull Phil’s physical reactions to every touch, every moan, every breath, by their strings until he could laugh at the puddle of the degenerated aristocrat.

So, while second class overflowed with passengers trying to get home for the weekend, Phil sat isolated in the first-class coach wondering whether he could bear the hopeful excitement of being around Dan. He imagined them, on Monday morning, conversing as if only Phil had felt the tension and pull for something more.

Maybe Dan was the most curious and mysterious person he’d ever met, someone who was completely unique and far beyond the realm of the stiff people his parents would have him spend his time around. Phil wanted to ask him questions about his life, about India. He wanted to memorise the answers. Was there a way to ask, without feeling narcissistic, why Dan didn’t care about his position? There was a certain contempt and nonchalant apathy in Dan’s eyes whenever Phil would try to engage; it was disdain for him, for his family, everything his class of people embodied. It begged an explanation, and Phil craved Dan’s unapologetic criticism of his position.

It was that tension threatening to break at dinner that made Phil’s entire body gasp for air when he’d pressed his spoonful of soufflé through the other boy’s begging lips and into his mouth where he’d lap it with his tongue, taste it, swallow it, feel it slip down the back of his throat, and then moan at the pleasure of his mouth being utterly and completely filled-to-the-brim and bursting with-

‘Ticket please’.

Phil sat bolt upright. He threw a bunch of cards at the inspector. ‘Oh! Uhm, here!’

The boy’s lower-half hadn’t appreciated the jolt.

The inspector laughed and winked at Phil before sorting through the cards and punching only one of the four; Phil had given over his redundant Waterloo and Oyster cards, as well as the ticket invoice.

As Phil settled his head back against the coach window only after the inspector moved on, he looked down at the punched orange ticket. Another realisation was that the real world was not as pleasant as his dreams.

King’s X to Alnmouth

Phil had travelled the route countless times, he was prepared but always annoyed at the four-hour journey from London to his home’s closest station. But this time, he was happy to stay on the train forever. Whenever it stopped, Phil’s stomach groaned. His eyes snapped open and his heartbeat shook his body with its thumping until he looked outside and determined that he’d not yet arrived at his station. It happened four times before finally, Phil’s anxiety returned to stay.

Alnmouth wasn’t a populated area. It was a small beacon of civilisation in a desolate county. The rolling hills around it stretched forever inland; there was no distinction between where England stopped, and Scotland began.

When it finally came time to disembark, Phil watched the train pull away, the engines firing up to put motion into the wheels, the steel grinding on the tracks, the whistle blowing… All these were a sensory overload to the void that followed.

He learned that “silence” referred to an absence of noise at a very young age when he first found himself here, alone. Phil always felt an eerie coldness rush through him, he’d look up at the stars shining brightly and strips of gas clouds floating through space above, a rare sight for someone who spent all his time in the south. Home.

Phil didn’t bring any luggage with him; he had a walk-in-wardrobe calibrated to rural life at the castle. Clothes for riding, shooting, dining; a uniform for every occasion. So, he sat outside the station on a bench while he waited for Mrs Danvers. Phil probably should have asked for the chauffeur, but he preferred his welcome to the north to come from a friend. Mrs Danvers had raised him, after all.

The headlights of one of the family’s black Rolls-Royces blinded Phil as it glided beside the pavement. A woman in a black dress stepped out and Phil rushed towards her.

‘Thank you so much for coming out to get me’.

‘It’s no worry, I’m glad to do it’.

Phil wormed his way into her arms and found warm familiarity in them. His father had either been too busy to bond with his son or deemed it traditional to let a fleet of servants raise him. His mother’s workaround was to sneak that warmth with her son when no one was looking. Mrs Danvers, however, always had been dependable for confidence when Phil felt out of sorts, no matter the company.

The housekeeper opened the back door and placed Phil’s bag in the boot. ‘Make sure the bag’s flat if you can, please! I’ve got a gift in there for Jane and I don’t want it to get beaten up’, he called out.

Phil always liked to sit in the front seat, so he could have someone to chat with. He shut the back door and walked around to the other side of the car. Mrs Danvers laughed when she climbed into the driver’s seat to find Phil waiting in the passenger seat, precisely where she had herded him away from.

‘What’s this present for Jane?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just a silver bell and a cute jumpsuit I found in London today while I was with some friends, I thought she might like it for the baby’. Mrs Danvers loved Phil like a surrogate son in many ways. She took pride in him and was sure his balanced attitude was a result of her influence.

‘That’s very sweet, were you out with Mr Kendall and Mr Liguori?’

‘Yeah, and Louise came too. There’s a new boy at school… PJ thinks he’s nice, so he came as well’. Mrs Danvers stopped at a red light and took the chance to look over at Phil and wink just to see if he’d blush.

‘Oh my God… it’s not like that. I just met him this week, and besides, I don’t think he even likes me. He doesn’t talk to me and it doesn’t matter how hard I try to be funny or make him laugh… I think he genuinely hates me…’

‘Not to contradict you, but I don’t think that’s a discouraging sign. Find me a Juliette who isn’t an anxious puddle when she’s with her Romeo’.

‘But Shakespeare was talking about families that hated each other… And Dan is a Julian’.

‘Well, you’ve got me there…’

If only the Capulets had been common dirt-poor Englishmen.

~*~

Soon the car approached a large castle with a millennium old Norman curtain wall stretching hundreds of yards around the structure. Blazing lights from windows dotted around the immense towers expelled all shadows. The keep reached several stories up into the sky, imposing over the little town built around it hundreds of years prior.

They drove over a bridge that Phil nicknamed “Lion King” when he was a child. It was designed in the same middle ages style as the castle over the river to create a picturesque setting in the daylight. On top of its stone wall was a detailed statue of a lion, frozen in his stride. Phil always thought it was rather menacing yet commanding, hence the imagination of a four-year-old named it accordingly.

The portcullis rose at the main gate tower, allowing the car to move through the ancient fortification towards the inner bailey. The front gate was a trap used centuries ago to attract invading soldiers. Guards would empty buckets of burning oil onto their heads from the floor above. The iron grates were still in place in the gutters so that the hot oil could flow into the deep pits below after it had sufficiently burned the skin off the invaders. Phil prayed they’d never be used again, but his father had been very tempted the last time the paparazzi came sniffing.

Heavy wooden doors would usually open to let the car through to the courtyard in the keep, but Phil instead asked if he could go through the servants’ entrance. It was an inconspicuous door hidden in the gate tower which led to the servants’ hall underground. A long secret tunnel stretched between the kitchens to the keep, allegedly so the long-dead 1st Duke wouldn’t be able to smell cooking food before it was sitting in front of him begging to be impaled on a fork. Phil learned of its existence as a child, when he frequently asked maids to help him escape the castle’s 150 rooms through the obsolete tunnels.

‘Your father won’t thank me for taking you down to the servant’s hall with me…’

‘I don’t really want to make the poor hall-boy come up to open the main doors, plus I need to come down to catch up with you all’. Mrs Danvers sighed in defeat, knowing she might be strung out like a cat for allowing the Duke’s son to interact so freely with those downstairs. Yet Phil always had his way.

 

The servants’ hall was modest, a long room underground with a curved brick ceiling. It was painted in pale green and grey colours; Phil knew his first action once he succeeded his father would be to paint a happier environment for the help. A large table with simple wooden chairs ran the length of the room where servants would congregate for breakfast and dinner. Phil often sat down here late at night to feast when he’d under-eaten at the upstairs dinner. Of course, that was because of his incessant snacking during the day.

The rooms in the complex included various pantries, the laundry, utility rooms, and sleeping quarters. If the castle above ground were a graceful swan, then the network of tunnels, staircases, and hallways underneath were the legs frantically kicking to keep the beast afloat. Of course, the unsightly parts weren’t visible from a position above the water.

‘Phil, I’ve been waiting up all night for you!’ a woman’s voice called out. Her heels clicked on the stone floors until she reached the boy and begged to be regaled in stories from the south. Her black maid’s dress wasn’t quite hiding her baby bump, which had grown a bit bigger since Phil left for Holloway.

‘Hey, Jane! I’m glad I caught you, but you should probably be in bed by now…’

‘I’m pregnant, Phil, not dying of some horrid disease’. He laughed but pulled it back when he realised how fatigued Jane looked, as anyone would be at nearly 11.00 on a Friday night after a fourteen-hour work day. Additional part-time staff and a cap on work hours for full-time staff would be another one of Phil’s changes when it came time for him to reign over the county as King.

‘Still, I don’t want you to be stressed out’, Phil said as he grabbed the gifts out of his bag. ‘I hope you’ll like these, I saw them in London and I couldn’t wait to see your reaction’. Jane took a soft red velvet bag from Phil’s outstretched hand and pulled the polished bell out. It looked as if it were made of sterling silver, knowing Phil perhaps it was.

‘Oh my… Phil, thank you, but you know I couldn’t accept-’

‘Shh. It’s payback for all those times you made food for a hungry little boy after hours’.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. You did put me through a lot of hassle, always stealing a maid’s outfit and following me around to make beds... Sometimes I think you were born into the wrong life, if only they’d told me about you when I interviewed. Fifteen years too late I guess’.

‘Not your standard housemaid role. But still, I hope you’re pleased?’ After all the joking, the two enjoyed each other’s company. Jane’s face softened, and she smiled, looking down at the little jumpsuit.

‘Yes, of course I am, you duffer’, she whispered.

The two of them were startled out of the moment when the butler walked in. His authority was always law above all else in his domain; even Phil used to fear him before he understood the terms of employment.

‘Might I be of any service, my lord?’ Prichard said. He was a tall man who always carried himself high. He took pride in his dress; his tailcoat and bowtie were still resting on his ironed evening shirt despite the work for the day having ended some time ago.

Phil jumped when he saw Prichard’s longing eyes. He didn’t know whether the butler longed to help or longed to shoo Phil to where he belonged—upstairs.

‘No, I’m sorry, Mr Prichard. I was just leaving. I hope you have a good night’, Phil muttered as he walked out. The butler turned around before he could exit.

‘Please, my lord, to someone of your station, I am simply “Prichard”’.

‘Alright, “simply Prichard”’. It was better than nothing after all these years.

The butler grumbled, and Phil made his escape as quickly as possible. Jane stood with her presents, holding her hand over her mouth to hide her illegal amusement.

‘Don’t loiter, Jane. Have you nothing whatever to occupy yourself?’

She scurried off, leaving Prichard to sway on his heels while he inspected the cleanliness of the servants’ hall with all the displeasure in the world plastered on his face.

Jane reached the women’s quarters but had to stop herself from running in her condition to do so. She was glad that being the principal maid in the house meant that she had a private room; she could put her new possessions on the mantle until the baby came.

~*~

Phil crept through the kitchen tunnel as he had done hundreds of times before. It came out on the bottom floor of the keep; most rooms had a secret entrance for servants dating to a time when the wretched souls were “not seen and never heard”. The tunnel exited into the foyer, a medium sized room hosting some of the best trophies from hunts gone by, as well as hundreds of rifles and swords passed down through the ages. Phil knew they had his earliest known ancestor’s sword from Hastings somewhere in storage.

The beasts adorning the walls were overwhelming to Phil, who despised the idea of hunting for pleasure. His father forced him out onto the hills to shoot pheasant and stalk deer, although Phil alternated between “forgetting the cartridges” and pulling every shot leftwards so that he might miss completely.

On occasion, Phil’s off-centre aim would result in the bullet anticipating the flight of the bird, tearing the poor thing into a dog’s breakfast. His father would pat him on the back and hum in appeasement, but the sorrow of hitting the bird and watching it tumble to the ground sickened Phil more than anything else. To see the end of the bird’s useful life on his plate for dinner and its feathers in his mother’s hat was an exhibition of his skill, apparently.

The feeling of helplessness Phil harboured whenever he returned north nestled in when he first attended boarding school, a point of reference to a semi-real life. The castle was designed to keep invaders out but also to trap prisoners in. Every room Phil passed through to reach the library trapped him in some way.

The marble staircase leading up to the main gallery sank in the middle, where hundreds of his ancestors before him had trodden as he did now. The crystal beads in the chandeliers above the staircase twinkled in the light, but the beauty didn’t drive away the memories.

His father once barked at his nanny to hold his son’s hand whenever he would descend these slippery stairs. Ever since Martyn’s accident, technically Mrs Danvers’ morning routine should still consist of that duty until the day of Phil’s wedding.

At the top of the stairs was the gallery. Roman archways cut into the walls, looking out into the other staterooms, made the room seem vast. Greek antique statues lifted the bright tone of the yellow walled room further still. Phil didn’t have any particular memories associated with it, though that was just as bad; nothing about his surroundings felt special. They were grand as all palaces were grand; that is, void of personality. Hundreds of years from now, his descendants wouldn’t be able to tell he once lived here without the use of the ancient family tapestry in the library to trace their lineage.

Dinner had long since ended, so he predicted his parents would be taking drinks in ante-library. Even when it was just the three of them, his father insisted on maintaining the old ways. They congregated in the yellow ante-room at 7, then moved into the dining room at 8. His father always had the entire table set for 16 even though only three places would ever be used, unless the local church paid a visit.

The 3rd Duke allegedly filled the castle to capacity with guests—running up twice the national debt—hence every place at the table would be used. The original order for the table to be fully set every evening to accommodate for last minute guests had not been overturned even 250 years after his death. In fact, the handwritten memo notifying the staff was framed in Prichard’s pantry. Until a new command was given ducal assent, the staff would continue to carry it out. Yet another change Phil stored in his mind for when he would ascend. His father would say he disregarded the importance of tradition, but Phil would say that looking to the future was equally important. The plate setting rule would simply have to go.

The one footman they still kept full-time must have gone to bed, so Phil had no formal entry to hide behind once he reached the library. Instead, the boy stood before the mahogany doors unsure of whether he dare open them.

HSH. An answer to whom, and or what, that could refer. He held onto the desire to know as he forced his hand against the cold wood until it creaked open. His mother, Kathryn, was sat by the hearth on a chaise-longue facing away from the door. As soon as she heard the panel break the silence in the room, she rose up and turned around with a smile on her face.

She walked over to her son as quickly as she could without tripping over her dark blue evening gown. The hem pooled around her feet, it was excessive.

‘Phil, my darling boy, I was ready to get in the car and send out a search party! It’s so lovely to see you home’, she said. She wrapped her arms around him, a gesture he was reluctant to return as there was no warmth in it.

‘Yet you always tell me I’m too cautious when it comes to Philip’s safety, Kathryn’. The two broke apart and Phil watched Ralph stand from his position by the fire. ‘You got my message, then’.

‘Yes, dad… I got your message. I just don’t understand why you didn’t explain more. I sat on a train for five hours because of a three-letter acronym’.

‘Don’t be smart with me’. Kathryn moved in between the boys when she saw the fear on her son’s face. ‘I should count myself lucky that the princess was willing to take a younger son. It’d be a shame to waste a good match, after all. Princess Sophia is quite intelligent, speaks exceptional English, dynastically significant, and family estates still intact. If your children aren’t attracting the best offers themselves, it won’t be her fault. Forgive me if it makes me a terrible father to guard your interests’.

Phil’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘A princess wants to marry me? I’m not even old enough… Plus, we don’t need any more land’.

The Duke moved around his wife until he was standing close enough to Phil that he could smell the scotch on his breath while he spoke. ‘I was not aware that some second-rate Jeremy Corbyn taught at Holloway. We’re the leaders of the county, it is our job to maintain this house and the people it provides for. Marrying is a part of that. Marry the princess, have an heir, and start a family that the county can be proud of. That is your role, don’t you see?’

‘I’m not a dog!’ Phil yelled.

**‘You are the son of a Duke. I have picked a woman of high-rank and unblemished reputation. Martyn would never have disrespected me in such a way for it’, he spat at Phil, but his voice wasn’t loud which was worse than any shouting. It was as if the threats and disdain were silent to anyone else.**

He grabbed his son by the collar and held the shivering boy’s ear close to his mouth. ‘Plenty of fathers do not give as much consideration as I have. You could do worse, and I should think about that very carefully before rejecting the princess’.

Phil could smell the whisky on his breath, he could feel the bite of the words and the cold air that pushed them out worm through his ears and yank at the tiny hairs deep inside. Ralph released his son and Phil felt weak at the knees when the full weight of his body transferred back onto his feet. It were as if he had been choked; he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. Even though his eyes puffed up, he refused to cry. He wouldn’t break in front of his parents, no matter how much he might want to.

‘You will sign some papers before year’s end. Then as soon as Cecil checks over the contracts, he will have them sent to Princess Sophia’s secretary in Bavaria’, the Duke said as he turned his back from Phil. He poured another tumbler of scotch from a bar trolley and sipped on it.

‘You can’t… Mum, tell him not to. Tell him it’s not right’, Phil whispered. Kathryn stared blankly at her son from her position, shoved aside behind her husband as he put down his scotch and stalked Phil like a deer. ‘Mum, please tell him… tell him he can’t…’

‘I believe Princess Sophia will make you happiest out of all the matches your father has drawn up’, she replied, looking past Phil’s ear to focus on a painting.

The Duke grabbed his son’s hands once again, all the anger returning. He wrestled Phil into submission with the aching pain of being twisted. Phil cried out as tears formed around his puffy eyes and fell down his red cheeks. He felt his elbow about to snap at the joint.

‘I’m not your enemy, Philip. I am on your side. If only you will agree, all of this,’ the Duke whispered into Phil’s ears, ripping his head to scan the dimly lit ante-library with its thousands of ancient manuscripts and priceless artefacts. ‘All of this can still be yours. Do as I say, and we may never fight again. It’s what’s best for you, the family’.  

‘The only things you do are for yourself’. Ralph tighten his grip on his heir, almost choking Phil by pulling his collar around his neck. Phil’s heart jumped into his throat with fear and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the strike he knew was coming.

‘How dare you!’ The back of the Duke’s hand struck Phil’s cheek and the boy screamed, the echo travelling throughout the entire castle, and tears streamed down his cut face as the sharp rings on his father’s fingers lashed open fresh wounds. ‘You. Will. Sign. Those. Papers!’ he shouted, striking the boy again and again between words. ‘Even if I have to hold you down and force your hand across the page!’

Kathryn stumbled, falling back to the couch as the gut-wrenching scene unfolded before her. ‘Ralph, that is enough!’

He didn’t seem to have heard his wife but huffed and released the boy of his own accord. He had nothing left to say. ‘I have promised a man to a princess of powerful German lineage, a serene highness. You would do well to train your weaknesses and shed your embarrassing boyish sensibilities. Perhaps she might help to keep this rebellious and irrational behaviour in check’.

He permitted the tear-stained boy to fall to his knees and weep, with bruises plastered on his cheeks and his sweaty hair soaking up blood. Ralph straightened up his dinner jacket to leave; he brushed his hands on his clothes and held out his hand to his wife. ‘Kathryn, come’.

‘If you’ll allow me just one moment-’

‘Now!’

She contemplated defiance for a second but took the hand and let it restore her to the place beside her husband. Phil fell by the couch, inching towards the fire to melt the pain away.

_Broken._

The door slammed shut, the two parents leaving the room quiet, save Phil’s sobs and the crackling of the wood as it was eaten in the hearth until it would become nothing but dust.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. When I first conceived this story, I had no idea it would get this dark. But I guess you now know what HSH means! Sophie (I modified her name to make her more posh for this) is a real Bavarian princess, and I am basing my Princess Sophia off of her lineage and family history. However, the real-life Sophie is married and 20 years older than Phil. So the princess presented here is definitely not a reflection of the real person.
> 
> I actually screwed it up though, Bavarian royalty carry the HRH title (royal highness), which ranks higher than the HSH one... I didn't realise this when I first mentioned HSH in this fic, but let's be real it makes Sophia sound more foreign and interesting lol
> 
> And now we finally know that the master plan all along was to use Phil as a pawn in a dynastic chess game... but the next question is, what does Ralph really want with a German princess?


	12. Something Rotten in the State of Denmark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left alone in the ante-room, his face caked in bruises and cuts from his father's beating, Phil must reassemble himself. But how can he go on, now that even his mother won't fight against the arranged marriage his father is striking?

The grandfather clock in the corner of the ante-library had struck midnight some minutes ago. The blue bird that popped out to sing on the hour could be heard only in the echoing space of Phil’s head as he lay motionless on the floor. He blinked, wiping dried tear tracts from his cheeks, but that was all he could manage. A door creaked open, but the boy did not react. Instead, he kept his focus on the flickering of the dying fire, the reflection was the only movement across his eyes.

‘Phil? What in God’s name are you still doing in here?’ Jane rushed across the room and pulled the boy into her arms, resting him back against the couch. ‘Phil?’

She held the boy’s head against her chest as he brought his knees to his chest, moving for the first time in what felt like years. The crusted spots of blood on his cheeks broke as Jane wiped them off and dabbed at them with her maid’s apron. He let himself be cradled, protected, by the woman over him.

‘I heard some horrible-’

‘I can’t sleep’, Phil whispered. He collapsed every time Jane tried to move his body to a standing position. The pain, the shock, sedated him to a sedentary one.

‘You poor boy, is it… is it your father, again?’

Phil wished he could answer in words, but that would make the problem real. ‘Don’t forget mum’.

‘I’m sure she tried her best-’ Phil shut her down with a stare. ‘Very well, I’ll get you cleaned up, back to bed, and then tomorrow we can do a few touch-ups’.

Jane was always there to pick up his pieces, utilising her lady’s maid training to hide the blue spots under layers of foundation. The beatings started a few years ago, when Phil developed a mind of his own, but when rings started appearing around the boy’s eyes as well as cuts and purple bruises on his cheeks, it would take longer. As Phil grew older, perhaps basic medical attention before the art of a cover-up could begin. A spot of rouge would usually bring him back to the land of the living again.

Only, Jane wasn’t so sure this time.

 

Phil refused to leave his chambers for the entirety of Saturday morning. He’d locked his door and moved his escritoire over it to prevent even his parents from entering. Mrs Danvers knocked, announced that she’d left a tray at his door to keep Phil from starving, and left when she received no answer.

The food rotted outside for several hours before someone took it away.

He’d allowed Jane through to do his make-up, but she was the only one. He didn’t know who he was trying to impress with his lively cheeks after she’d finished. After all, he wouldn’t be seeing anyone from outside the castle, and all the servants knew about the beatings by now. It was a silent and accepted fact that no one could speak up for, or defend, Phil. It wasn’t a servant’s place to meddle in family affairs, but rather to consult and advise—not that he would let them risk their jobs for him anyway.

Jane stood back to ask him whether he wanted to come for tea.

‘I really think you ought to come down-’

‘No’.

‘Just a spot of tea?’

‘No’.

‘You’re sur-’

‘I do not want tea, I want some peace and bloody quiet!’

Phil’s brain didn’t feel like working, so he hurled a pillow at Jane and slumped down back to bed and remained motionless as she abandoned him.

Phil felt guilty and childish for lashing out but unwilling to mend his fences, not until he could spare the energy to move a muscle. Jane returned half an hour later with a bag of marshmallows from the village and a long twig; it would take more than a tantrum to sever their connection. She lit the fire in Phil’s sitting room and left him to his own devices, as she knew after all these years that he would want.

~*~

Dan never considered that were he to tell the truth, maybe the rich boys would be jealous of him rather than the other way around. He lay in bed until midday on this glorious Saturday morning, thinking about his betrayal of PJ’s trust. The two were friends now, and the thought was exciting but also disturbing to Dan. The sun was shining through his window, summer hadn’t yet died after all, but he knew soon it would.

He thought back on his first week at Holloway; things had gone better than he could have hoped. He’d made some new friends, even if the privilege of two in particular had him itching to punch a wall in frustration.

He supposed that Phil possessed a satisfactory personality, though too eager to please. Dan felt like he tried hard to prove to him that he wasn’t some toff lording his status over everyone else. It scared him that Phil found him “special” enough to warrant that courtesy. In any case, Phil didn’t behave exactly like Louise had described, but his incessant attempts to prove otherwise made Dan question his sincerity.

Dan knew he was an anxious person—and given the financial resources, he would be seeing a shrink for it—but something about Phil’s indecipherable motivation for befriending him put him more on edge than usual. So, there he was, sitting in bed at midday and staring at the ceiling.

‘It’s time to get up, pumpkin!’ Jackie yelled out. He hated that she still called him by pet names. One day he might appreciate that it had been in Phil’s dreams to be loved in such a way by his parents. ‘Bear? What are you still doing in bed? You have homework to do, mister’.

‘Thinking’, Dan replied.

‘Sounds dangerous…’

‘Quite’.

John came into the room a few moments later. ‘So, the toffs are teaching you posh-speak as well…’

Dan soon left the safety of his duvet for lunch, then sitting down to an episode of The Weakest Link with some Psychology homework. He strove to be as sassy as Anne, but for now he’d focus on his psychology essay. He’d chosen to write about the advantages and disadvantages of judgment based on first impressions.

He’d learned so far from his textbook that most people passed judgment only eight seconds after meeting someone, and those critical moments would decide whether two humans would become friends or foes. He thought about PJ, whose first impression had been kind but overshadowed by extenuating circumstances. He supposed PJ’s second impression was quite different, and Dan was glad he entertained the chance to receive it.

He put his head in his hands and groaned at the idea that a rational person might also demand that Dan should give Philip and Chris the same courtesy. However, those two must surely be an exception, for the second impressions he observed at The Criterion were not worthy of mention. Despite that, he did wonder how others received his first impression, and indeed why Phil wasn’t thrown off by it. More surprising still, for the first time, it wasn’t his anxious habits pushing him to reflect.

~*~

On the opposite side of the country, Phil, finally coaxed from his chambers, was being led down the stairs to the staterooms by Mrs Danvers. The boy felt like throwing himself down the marble steps, and in that moment, he was thankful for the “Alnwick System”—of which Mrs Danvers holding his hand as he descended was a principal component—that his father imposed to maintain his remaining heir’s health. Phil supposed that another son dying by falling would preclude the continuation of his father’s lineage, so the system made logical—even if not moral—sense.

It seemed it was time for lunch; Phil had resisted but the housekeeper won his obedience at the mention of homemade pizza, which now sat only steps away in the green dining room.

‘How did you convince dad to go along with pizza for lunch?’

‘It was the duchess’ idea, since he’s outside preparing for the hunt’.

The word “hunt” sounded so unmusical in Phil’s ears, so violent and short. ‘What?’

‘Well, being September, his grace is eager to make the most of the season. Grey partridges today, and next month will be pheasant and deer’.

Phil put the vile activity of recreational murder on his list of things to outlaw when he ascended.

‘In fact, I’ve been told to equip you with a rifle and rounds for the afternoon’.

Kathryn walked in, sitting to the table opposite Phil as he collected a few pizza slices onto his plate. ‘Thank you for organising this, Mrs Danvers’, she said. The housekeeper curtsied and withdrew.

‘Phil, I hoped this would brighten your day. I do know hunting isn’t your favourite, but I think your father knows no other way to interact’, she laughed, as if it were a harmless miscalculation to force an unwilling hunter to unload lead into beloved animals.

When Phil said nothing, raising his glass of water to his lips and daring her to continue, she took a breath. ‘I know last night was difficult, but please know that I will always be a friend on your side. I talked to your father this morning; he agreed that if Princess Sophia is not to your liking, you may choose another from a short-list’.

‘The only friends I have are either downstairs or on the other side of the country’. Phil dropped his glass back onto the table, ruining the adjacent setting with the _clang_ of its cutlery. ‘I used to think you were my friend’.

‘I still am. Remember how your father forbade you from wandering the blood forest alone when you were little? I would always accompany you, whenever you asked. I would hold your hand on the trail, so you wouldn’t trip on the pebbles, and we would spot all the pretty birds together’.

‘But I don’t need protection from tiny stones anymore’. The woman sighed, sitting forward and hoping to catch Phil in eye-contact, but he refused to meet her. Instead, Phil sunk his teeth into the pizza and looked at the much more pleasing sight of it on his plate.

‘Your father at least values my company. You never respond to my emails, you reject my calls, I can’t remember the last time you returned my affection. Philip, I know your father sometimes doesn’t know his own strength, and perhaps his approach is harsh, but you must trust that all I want is to protect you’.

Phil raised his voice and felt unshed tears from last night behind his eyes. Long after he would leave Alnwick Castle, he would recognise this as the moment he lost his mother.

‘You're blind! All you’ve ever protected me from me is sticks and stones in the forest, you’ve never done anything to protect me from him! Every time he hits me, you do nothing. Every time he insults me, you laugh it off like some joke! Every time he says I’m too young to decide my own life, you agree!’

‘Philip, I think you are stressed and exhausted’, she whispered, sliding forward in her seat to reach across the table and hold her son’s hands. ‘You will live, long after I am gone, to regret saying something today that you cannot take back’.

Phil ripped them back. ‘And whose fault will that be?’ 

He rose from his chair. He tossed away his napkin, and left the room without another word.

 

Phil stood on the gun terrace overlooking the river and vast hills and fields that formed the family estate. He could make out his father standing with the rifles by the edge of the blood forest, but his mother thankfully remained in the dining room and wouldn’t accompany him this time.

His woollen hunting jacket and trousers itched against his skin, his Wellingtons felt like they had no room left to give and squelched on the damp gravel as he walked down from the castle to the edge of the trees. The sun was on his back but did nothing to cut through the wetness in the air.

‘Dad’, Phil greeted.

‘Philip, I was hoping we could mend our fences with a little fun’.

 _Fun._ Phil cringed at the partridges squawking about in the blood forest. He used to love spotting them, but he hadn’t known then what their purpose was. No doubt the dogs would scare them out of the trees soon enough and push their flight path straight into the tip of a bullet.

Ralph handed his son a rifle, loaded with two rounds, and some cartridges as his forgetful son had left his own behind. ‘Mend out fences?’ Phil asked.

‘I regret last night, Phil, but I want you to know I have your best interests at heart regarding the Princess. Regardless of how things escalated, I believe Princess Sophia is a woman you could be very happy with’. He picked up his own rifle and loaded his two rounds, aiming up at the sky as the birds flew towards them. ‘Shoulders back, head up, son’.

_Bang._

The thunder of the gunshot reverberated around the hills, bouncing off the castle in the distance and nearly rupturing Phil’s eardrums. The bird continued its flight; Ralph sighed in disappointment.

Phil raised his rifle and pulled his aim to the left as another bird came within 20 yards of their position in the grassy field before the forest. However, the bird changed its direction to swoop across his sights as he squeezed the cold mental of the trigger.

_Bang._

It tumbled from the sky and crashed into the ground.

Ralph smiled and laughed, patting his son on the back. ‘Very well done, another feather for your mother’s hats!’

They ceased shooting after a few rounds; Phil collected his prize, bringing the still breathing bird back to his father. The bullet had ripped the tail to shreds, but otherwise the bird might have lived a flightless life had his father not crushed its skull with the barrel of his rifle. Dead.

‘Thanks, dad…’

The pair stayed out shooting for an hour or so, Phil missing as many shots as he could manage. In the end, another three birds met their fate at the end of his gun, while his father bagged twenty. Phil wondered how many bullet cases rested below the soil, corrupting the land with gunpowder residue and casing. He thought about spending a portion of his inheritance turning over the dirt to clean it up.

‘Only four birds, pity… I thought you might have better luck on a clear day like this, Phil’.

‘Sorry, dad’. Phil cast his eyes down and started to walk ahead of his father to the castle, gun slung over his back.

‘Wait one moment’, Ralph called out. He grabbed Phil’s shoulder to turn him around. ‘I hope you understand that however you score in a drive, I do care about you and I want your future here secure’. He gestured to the rolling hills around them and the fertile farmland beyond, the natural beauty that sustained their lives. ‘When your grandfather died, the debts almost forced your mother and I to sell up. The overhaul to make this land profitable again was long and difficult, but I did it all for you. I don’t want you to inherit a bottomless pit like I did’.

Phil didn’t have the energy to shrug or even act surprised at his father’s placid behaviour. He didn’t doubt that the man felt guilty for his outrage the other night, but his calm voice and pleading eyes did not convince Phil. In fact, the exposition of remorse didn’t even push a smile onto his face.

So, all he could breathe out before he turned away and rushed back to the castle was a nonchalant acknowledgement of a large dilemma. ‘I know’.

Phil left his father behind with his shooting, hearing several more bullets rip through the air and the squeal of another partridge as one tore its insides out and showered them across the field. The tears pouring down Phil’s face made his foundation wet as he picked up to a run after some distance. When Phil wiped the drops around his eyes away, the black bruises below his foundation saw the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof is Kathryn a villain or severely misguided? I hope the antagonistic type characters aren't so one-dimensional. I'm trying hard to make their actions relevant to their core beliefs and preferred moral frameworks, even Ralph has good intentions but these villainous characters almost never go about fulfilling them in good ways.  
> I was pretty proud of my hunting section in this tbh, it hit the spot of how I imagine Phil is feeling just perfectly and I hope that came across in the text. Let me know your thoughts on Phil's parents and their world! And that world is certainly characterised by the Shakespeare title... too bad Sophia is German and not Danish lol
> 
> Also I'm adding a bit of content between this chapter and the Christmas chapters (which I've already written), So, there will be no update next week as I will be pre-writing and editing some additional chapters. I want them to connect nicely with the Christmas plot line, so I'm eager not to post as I write. See you in two weeks!


	13. Sword of Damocles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a violent trip home for the weekend and the shock of his father's arrangements for his marriage to a German princess, Phil returns to Holloway with a strong face. But the partridge shooting hasn't done his mood any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I've been gone a while oops. I'd recommend re-reading the previous chapter to recall what's been happening (check chap summary above for a recap otherwise). This is a short update to get me familiar with these characters again before I continue.

The Monday following the outing to The Criterion produced some disturbing results. In History, the trio again sat opposite everyone else. PJ gave Louise a hurt smile, perhaps an apology for isolating himself on that side of the room after all the bonding they’d done on Friday. Meanwhile, Dan wasn’t worried for Phil more than he was curious. He tried to connect the dots between the motivation for him to return north at the weekend and the make-up covering his face. The powder was difficult to spot, but dry against his pale skin if one looked hard enough.

Phil looked up from his notebook as Sir Richard droned on about the Stuart monarchy. Phil must have thought that Dan was looking at him out of fascination rather than pity and curiosity, because he smiled in a way that was too warm to be entirely friendly. Dan averted his eyes.

“Don’t look away, he’s totally into you,” Tyler whispered. Louise chuckled as the three of them verified Tyler’s interpretation by gazing up from their own desks, forcing Phil to turn back to his out of embarrassment.

‘I think I agree with Tyler’, Louise commented.

‘Let’s focus on the history, not the future, please’. In fact, Dan sensed that Phil’s gaze had no romantic sparkle in it. He seemed more a worn-out and burdened individual than a boy looking at someone he fancied.

‘So, from your weekend reading, we know that James I, as the King of Scotland for 35 years before becoming King of England, greatly preferred the Scottish feudal system’, Sir Richard spoke over the drama unfolding in Dan’s mind. ‘The power of the King of Scots was more absolute. That is, James felt constricted by the English Parliamentary system, with which he frequently fought. Can anyone suggest a link between Cromwell’s revolution and James’ ideology?’

Some hands shot up—fewer than last week—Miss Laura Hunter’s among them, of course.

‘Lord Philip, I think you might be the person to answer this time’. Laura Hunter seemed disappointed in not being chosen to prove her intelligence as Phil hadn’t even raised his hand. The pale-faced boy cleared his throat to respond, pulling his head from down near his desk to look at Sir Richard head on. Dan suspected that Sir Richard picked on those who he thought were not listening.

‘I think people in England didn’t like the idea that James wanted to have as much power here as he did in Scotland, and that’s why we became a republic later on, because when his son became King, he also thought he should have more power’.

Sir Richard seemed surprised, but from the steady and deadpan tone in Phil’s voice, Dan knew the lines were well-rehearsed. PJ seemed on the edge of his seat—Phil had told him all about the great matter—as the Lord progressed through his answer. The thick silence in the room had Louise shifting in her seat beneath PJ’s helpless gaze. It was as if PJ was begging for help as he became more distressed with each question Sir Richard asked about the origins of Jacobite beliefs. On the other side of the room, it seemed only Dan wanted to know why.

 

Dan made sure not to interrogate PJ when they found each other in Psychology in the afternoon. Rather, he framed his questions in a caring way.

‘PJ, are you feeling alright?’ ‘Is something bothering you?’ ‘If something was wrong, you’d tell someone right?’

‘Yeah, no, yes, I’m fine. Absolutely fine’.

The homework Dan had done to research his essay had paid off, on the bright side. His draft received praise in front of the entire class for his analysis of the intuition involved in judging first impressions. PJ cocked his head as Dan returned to their table after the teacher had finished dissecting his exemplary commentary.

‘That was insightful’.

‘You tell Phil, and I’ll literally kill you’.

PJ smiled and resolved to force a meeting between the two soon.

~*~

In Tuesday’s morning Chapel service, hundreds of students packed into Holloway’s Gothic cathedral. The black tailcoats and dark blue skirts formed a sea of depressed children shuffling as a congregation towards the pews. Phil looked up at the vaulted ceiling, noticing how the pillars holding it up sprouted like tree trunks and fanned out at the top, knitting their stone branches together to form a canopy overhead. His thoughts were stuffed with the beauty of the chapel, outshining PJs ramblings about Dan’s psychology paper. Phil both appreciated and looked beyond extraneous details of a structure to find blinding beauty whereas other students would look at their shoes as they walked inside.

‘Phil? Are you listening to me?’ PJ asked. Chris waved his hand in front of Phil’s face to snap him out of his thoughts.

‘What?’

‘Dan. That’s what’.

‘Oh Peej… I don’t think you understand; he doesn’t like me even as a friend’, Phil protested, ‘and what’s the point? I’m going to be engaged by Christmas, probably’.

‘Have you even met the woman yet?’ Chris asked.

Phil sighed as Chris’ comment highlighted the absurdity of his father’s plans. ‘No… But sooner or later-’

PJ elbowed Phil in the side, drawing his attention to Dan, who was struggling against the depressing sea of black behind the trio to reach them.

‘Hi, guys’.

Chris rolled his eyes at Dan’s sudden appearance. PJ wore a smile and hugged Dan. Phil found something interesting about his shoes to look at.

‘We should find a place to sit’, PJ said.

The three side-stepped through the wooden pews to the end of the row. The chapel, being old, still had candelabras placed at every second seat. They burned to light up the chapel, causing the students to carefully slot in one after the other to avoid the flames. Dan thought it was entirely superfluous.

‘Oh no, we’re starting with the hymn…’ Phil whispered to PJ as he picked up the program on his seat, and all rose to sing. The organ burst forth into the chapel with the strong and proud accompaniment of Jupiter.

Phil reluctantly opened his mouth, looking across to Dan beside him and seeing him do the same. Phil could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he read over the first verse and the notion of love and service therein.

Dan’s hand brushed against Phil’s slightly. He jerked it away, like a band-aid, as the organ reached the first verse. The congregation washed the power of its single voice over the room, reverberating and resonating strongly.

_I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,_

_Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;_

_The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,_

_That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;_

_The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,_

_The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that hiatus I took was not planned but I'm back... This chap ends a bit quickly but I feel I need a chapter break before continuing into the next scene. Expect more soon!


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